Hunger
by MountainMan74
Summary: Life isn't easy when you're an immortal creature of myth, but Alfred F. Jones has been doing it for 251 years. Then, while visiting London, he runs into a human who throws him for a loop-Arthur Kirkland, the first person to ever resist Alfred's charms. Instead of forgetting about Arthur, Alfred becomes determined to win the Brit's heart. Rated: MA Birthday present for Foofie88
1. Chapter 1

_Hurry. Hungry._

There had to be somewhere nearby where he could find a good meal. A bar or a club, somewhere that involved alcohol so he could feed as soon as possible. God, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd been this hungry. Why had he waited so long between feedings?

Right, because the lovebirds had convinced him to come to London with them and he hadn't even had the chance to feed during the last two days.

_Should've fed off them. They wouldn't mind. They love it._

But he didn't like to feed off them. They were his friends and he didn't want to be dependent on them for food. Besides, they were so busy with each other that he felt selfish for asking to be included.

_Hurryhurryhurry! Hungry!_

His impatience and the overwhelming need growing, Alfred popped his knuckles as his gaze searched desperately for the telltale signs of a bar. This was London, for hell's sake! There should be a place to get a drink around here somewhere! Long legs carried him quickly down the sidewalk, almost but not quite jogging because, while he was about to go mad with hunger, he didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to himself.

_There! Yes! A pub! Fucking finally!_

Relief flooded him and he slipped inside the pub's front door, hands shoved into his pockets so that they wouldn't twitch for everyone to see. Blue eyes all but glowed behind glasses as they adjusted to the dim lighting and scanned the people already there. Alfred hadn't even taken his first step towards the bar when his breath caught in his throat and he froze, staring. There was a man sitting alone at the bar. His back was to Alfred and his shoulders were hunched up almost to his ears, but that didn't mean anything. Even wearing loose business clothes, he was obviously a very thin man and his blond hair looked like it would be amazingly soft. Al wanted to run his hands through it.

_Him. Feed. Now. Hungry. Him._

Fixing a charming smile in place, Alfred straightened his jacket and ran a hand through his own ash blond hair to give himself a perfectly messy look, young and reckless and wild and definitely capable of giving someone a good time. He approached the blond sitting at the bar and gracefully slid onto the stool next to him—the stranger didn't look up or even appear to notice that there was now someone sitting next to him.

"Hey, there," Alfred greeted, his tone friendly with a slightly flirtatious edge. "What's your name?"

The man straightened slightly, looking around as if he wasn't sure who was being spoken to, then turned and stared straight at Alfred. "Are you talking to me?"

Immediately, Alfred's mind went blank. It was almost impossible not to stare like a star-struck idiot. Somehow, on his first night out in London, he'd managed to find a man with insanely green eyes set in a pale, elegantly narrow face. The blond hair was revealed to be multiple shades of gold and he had thick eyebrows that were drawn together in confusion. Then there was the accent, of course. Alfred almost didn't want to believe that this guy was human even though he knew that he was.

_Beautiful. Perfect. Want. Need._

"Course I am. I don't see any other handsome guys sitting at this bar." He winked playfully, his smile turning into an outright grin that was borderline seductive smirk.

A light blush colored the man's cheeks and he lowered his gaze to the bar top. "H-handsome?"

Shit, that was damn fucking adorable. The man was shy and Alfred wanted to pull him into a tender hug, nuzzle his cheek and kiss his neck and whisper sweet nothings into his ear until the Brit was a blushing, mumbling mess for Al to take home and make love to for hours on end. God, yes, he wanted to do that.

"Handsomest man in all of London."

The blush darkened. "Flatterer," he accused, and Alfred laughed his usual charming laugh.

"But an honest flatterer. So, you gonna tell me your name or do I have to try to guess?"

"N-no, you don't have to guess." He offered a nervous smile and held his hand out. "I'm Arthur."

Arthur. It was the perfect name for this perfect man and Alfred shook his hand with only barely contained eagerness.

"Nice to meet ya, Arthur. I'm Alfred, but you can call me Al."

"You're American," Arthur commented as he took his hand back and wrapped it securely around the half-full glass sitting in front of him.

"Sure am! I've been to London before, but not for a while. Things have changed a bit and, well, I'm not actually sure where I am," Alfred admitted with an embarrassed chuckle. It wasn't entirely true. Yes, he'd been to London before, years ago, and yes, things had changed, but he knew his way around these streets well enough to find his way back to the hotel once he was done feeding. Besides, he wouldn't be going back until morning.

_Maybe not 'til tomorrow afternoon. I could really take my time with this guy. He's probably a god in bed. He'd be like a feast._

"Are you by yourself?" The Brit was obviously only concerned for Alfred's welfare and didn't have any ulterior motives for asking, but Al wanted to make him blush again.

"I was, but I've decided that I'd like to enjoy your company for the evening," he replied, his voice dropping slightly so that Arthur knew what he was hinting at. As he'd expected, the smaller blond's cheeks flushed again. What he hadn't counted on, though, was the sudden frown he received.

"Aren't you a cocky one." Arthur turned to face the bar again and took a drink from his glass. "Well, you can forget about that, because I'm not so easily wooed. What kind of man would I be if I got picked up by every good-looking git that swaggered through that door? No, I have my pride, so if you're looking for a quick hook-up, then you can shift your arse to the club around the corner."

Shocked, Alfred blinked wide blue eyes at the Brit and tried to think of something to say in response to that. No one had ever turned him down before.

"I…I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to offend you or sound like a…a git. You're just really good-looking and you seem nice and I don't have plans for the evening and I honestly would like to get to know you better."

_Stop! Stop! What the hell are you saying?! Just accept that he isn't interested and go to the club, you moron! You don't have time for this "wooing" bull shit! It's time to feed and you know what'll happen if you don't hurry up and find someone!_

He ignored the warning bells in his head, ignored the burning itch-like sensation in the back of his brain that was on the verge of driving him mad. Yeah, he could go to the club around the corner, but he didn't want to. He wanted Arthur and leaving now would only prove to the Brit that Alfred was just some asshole looking for a fuck buddy. That wasn't what he wanted.

_That's what I am, though. I need food and soon and I can't afford to spend all night trying to win over some guy who might say no, anyway._

"Then quit trying to pick me up," Arthur muttered, glaring into his glass as if the liquid inside had personally insulted him. "I'm not some hussy looking for a good time."

Almost ashamed of himself, Alfred lowered his gaze. "I know. I'm sorry."

They were quiet for a moment as the bartender came and refilled Arthur's glass; Alfred declined to order anything.

"What are you in London for? Business?"

Alfred smiled in relief—he wasn't a lost cause just yet. "No, I'm on vacation with a couple of friends. I'm the third wheel, though, so I'm on my own for tonight."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Arthur swirled the golden liquor he'd been partaking of that evening then glanced at Alfred out of the corner of his eye. "Listen, I'm sorry for going off on you like that. I shouldn't get so worked up over these little things, but…well, not that you care or that it's your problem at all, but I've had a run of bad luck lately when it comes to romance so I'm a bit more defensive than usual. But if you're asking me out, not just looking for sex, then I do think it would be fun."

_Yes! He wants to go out with me!_

_But you need to eat. He just said he won't sleep with you. What are you going to do?_

Despite the blow reality had just dealt to his private victory, Alfred couldn't help but grin. "Great!"

The Brit chuckled at his enthusiasm. "You're a funny one, Alfred. I can honestly say I've never met anyone quite like you."

"That's cause no one is quite like me," Alfred replied playfully, leaning closer to the green-eyed man so that Arthur blushed again.

"Oh, shove off. Listen, I've had enough for one night, but," smiling slightly, he grabbed Alfred's hand and picked up an abandoned pen from the bar top then wrote on the American's palm, "you can call me, and we'll set up that date. All right?"

"Cool." Blue eyes examined the number and Alfred looked back at the Brit in time for Arthur to quickly lean in and kiss him. It startled Al enough that he froze, eyes going wide, until Arthur pulled away a few moments later, blushing darkly.

"See you around, Alfred," he mumbled, looking up at the taller man through his bangs so that it was green framed by gold and Alfred was left absolutely speechless. Then he slid off his stool, placed money for his drink on the bar, and quickly left the pub. Alfred's gaze followed him the whole way, watching how his hips swayed ever so slightly as he walked and the noticing the way Arthur glanced back at him just before he disappeared through the door.

_I have a date with Arthur._

Just the thought made him want to let out a self-congratulatory woop. He didn't though, choosing instead to quietly leave the pub and set off down the sidewalk towards the corner. Hooking up with some stranger at the club Arthur had mentioned after meeting the Brit wasn't exactly appealing, but he still needed to feed and that kiss had only made him hungrier. He'd call Arthur tomorrow and set up their date. For now, it was feeding time.

XXX

He managed to keep his cool all the way back to his apartment. It really wasn't that far of a walk, but it felt like it took years just to make it those few blocks away from the pub. For that time, Arthur remained as calm, cool and collected as always. The moment his door was locked and he was safely alone in his apartment, though, he let out a groan and slumped against the wall, a hand over his eyes.

"Bloody hell…"

What on earth had he been thinking? Just because the git had big blue eyes and that cute little cowlick and did he really have anything coherent to say about that smile and that bloody accent? For no real good reason, he'd given his number to a complete stranger! A stranger he knew nothing about, who was in London on vacation! What exactly did he think was going to happen? He'd go on a date with the man, maybe even develop an attraction to him, and what? It couldn't turn into anything—Alfred would go back to America and Arthur would never see him again.

Ooh, he didn't like to think about that.

Sighing, the Briton pushed himself away from the wall and made his way through the apartment to his bedroom, clicking on the small lamp that stood on the nightstand. His room was small and rather plain, as was the rest of his apartment, but it was cozy. Neat. Well kept. It wasn't much, but it was his, and he was proud of it.

Green eyes landed on the bed and for a moment he considered collapsing onto the soft mattress without bothering to undress and just sleep in his clothes. Tempting, tempting. Somehow, the energy he'd had when he went to the pub had abandoned him, but he supposed he could just be feeling a little drained due to his run-in with the American. Falling asleep right at that moment would be easy. His upbringing didn't allow for that, though, so he ignored the bed for now and changed out of his work clothes, tossing them into the hamper, then put on his pajamas. He brushed his teeth, washed his face and combed his hair like any other well-raised Englishman. Then, finally, he crawled into bed and snuggled under the covers.

_I gave my number to an American tourist and he's going to call me and we're going to go on a date._

Arthur buried his face in his hands as an anguished groan escaped him. "Ugh, what was I thinking?"

_And I kissed him. I bloody _kissed_ him, after telling him I'm not a hussy. The poor man probably doesn't know what to think of me now._

None of what he'd done in that pub made sense. It was supposed to be a regular Friday night. Get off work, stop for a drink on his way home, then come back to the apartment and go to bed. Spend Saturday relaxing, read a book and have some tea, maybe go to the park and feed the birds. Now he was going to spend all of tomorrow waiting for Alfred to call him, and he knew he'd be upset if the blue-eyed man didn't call for a few days. He'd flirted with a complete stranger, which was completely unlike him. He'd also lectured that stranger, admitted to that stranger that his love life hadn't been going very well lately, gave his number to that stranger and then kissed him before walking out as if that was how he spent every Friday night!

"I'm such a git. What am I supposed to do about this? I can't very well tell him that I've changed my mind and don't want to go out with him, after all."

Besides, he didn't want to do that. No one in his right mind would turn down the chance to go on a date with Alfred, not after having that smile aimed at them, not after being called "the handsomest man in London" by the handsomest American tourist that ever existed. Alfred had been so confident and suave, so sure of what he wanted and sure that he could get it. But the moment he thought he'd been rude, the suave stranger disappeared. He'd become a kind-hearted, sweet young man who was looking for someone to spend his time with. It had been rather cute.

_But this is bad! He's good-looking and charming and if I was so attracted to him that I kissed him already then how am I supposed to keep my distance so it doesn't hurt when he goes back to America?_

Intimacy had never been something that Arthur was good at. He was terrible at being intimate, at flirting and being playful with his partners. It was always a shock when someone actually took an interest in him, but never surprising when his usually cold demeanor drove those people away. What had he been called? Cold. Uncaring. Distant. His relationships had been described as "convenient" and "boring" and "stale." Partners asked why he couldn't be a little more adventurous, why he never tried anything new. And Arthur never had answers for them.

Now, though, now he'd done something new. He'd kissed a stranger he'd met in a pub, and given the man his number. Even better, that stranger was handsome and charming, the kind of man that Arthur would never have thought he had a chance with. Yet Alfred had chosen him. Out of all the men in the pub tonight, Arthur had been chosen. It made a small balloon of pride inflate in his chest. Alfred thought he was handsome.

"This will be good for me," he told himself firmly, finally coming to terms with the situation enough to stop hiding his face. "I'll go on this whirlwind romance adventure, and even if it doesn't pan out, well, at least I'll have the story to tell of the dashing American who swept me off my feet. For once, I'll do what no one expects, and I'll come out better than I am now. Alfred's different, somehow. Any fool can see that, and until he goes back to America, well, I'm going to enjoy the fact that he's in London."

That made him feel better, thinking of this as an adventure, something to spice up the life that everyone else considered to be so dull. Alfred was anything but dull, and he seemed to think that Arthur was special, too. If anything, Arthur meant to live up to the American's expectations. He was a well-off man with a good job, he was intelligent and, despite what everyone else seemed to think, he could be spontaneous and fun. He'd had his rebellious teenage years, after all, and still bore the evidence of them.

"I'll show them. I'll show them how much fun Arthur Kirkland is. No one will ever call me 'boring' again."

Feeling rather smug now, the Briton settled more comfortably under the blankets and let his eyes fall closed. He took a deep breath, letting the relaxing scent of lavender fill his nose, then sighed. Already, sleep began to creep up on him, and his thoughts of Alfred began to blur together until it was a jumbled mess of impossibly blue eyes and dazzling smiles.

"I'm going on a date with a gorgeous American," he mumbled to himself, smiling, just before he drifted off. It was the best thing he'd fallen asleep to in a long time.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Happy birthday, Foofie! I hope you like your present :) If the time zone difference means that it's not your birthday for you anymore, then I'm really, really sorry for being late. I hope you had a fantastic birthday!


	2. Chapter 2

The door opened and a pair of green eyes lifted from the magazine held in elegant, perfectly manicured hands. Their owner examined a tall, blond, blue-eyed man who had a little more bounce in his step than normal and was smiling as though he couldn't help himself. "You look happy."

Alfred's grin didn't falter in the slightest as he shook water from his hair and shrugged out of his jacket—it had been raining during his walk back, but he didn't mind—before dropping into one of the empty chairs near the person who had spoken to him.

"I am happy. I'm great. Fantastic. Couldn't be better."

Putting the magazine aside, a boy with chin-length blond hair crossed one leg over the other and leaned on the armrest of the chair he'd been lounging in so that he could smirk at his slightly damp friend. "Good hunting last night?"

"Yeah. Well, no. I mean, that's not what I'm happy about."

"Then why are you, like, so giddy or whatever?" the younger blond asked. "You've never been this excited just from getting laid."

True. He was usually a lot calmer about it, mostly because he didn't look at sex as sex. Sex was food and little else. But that might be changing.

"I met someone, Feliks. Someone different."

Interest lit up Feliks' green eyes and he shifted closer to Alfred. "What's this someone's name?"

"Arthur."

Feliks sat up and turned towards a door set in the wall behind him and to his left. "Tor! Come hear Al's story about last night!"

Within moments, a brunet male who looked to be about the same age as Feliks appeared through the door, his brow furrowed over blue eyes. "Why would I want to hear about what he had for dinner last night?"

Rolling his eyes, Feliks simply gestured for Toris to join them on the chairs. The moment the brunet sat down, the blond got up and traded his spot on the chair for one on the other boy's lap. They were instantly half wrapped around each other, Feliks' white skirt riding up strategically high to entice Toris' hands to explore.

_Yum._

Alfred shook his head to clear his thoughts. "You two are making me hungry, and I just ate. Keep your clothes on for ten minutes."

His comment made Feliks pout while Toris blushed and mumbled an apology. "Sorry…"

"Seriously, you guys have more sex than I do and I'm pretty sure that's not how it's supposed to go."

"It's, like, not just sex for us," Feliks pointed out before offering a loving smile to Toris, "we're bonded mates. We make love." The brunet's blush darkened but he returned the smile then hugged the slightly shorter male around the waist, nuzzling into his shoulder.

"Yeah, well, I'm an incubus and I have to have sex or I'll starve to death. 'Making love' wasn't really an option before."

That caught Feliks' attention enough for him to stop trying to get Toris to look at him. "Before? So, like, it's an option, now?"

He couldn't help but grin, though he did try not to. "I think so."

Chin now resting on Feliks' shoulder, Toris looked at his friend with renewed interest. "So you didn't just eat last night."

"Uh…no…I mean, I found this chick at a club—she was completely hammered and probably doesn't remember me at all—but she's not who I'm talking about."

"Right," Feliks interrupted, waving his hand in the air as if dismissing everything Al had said. "Tell us about _Arthur._" The name was purred and he smirked as he said it because Alfred's face immediately began turning a light pink.

"I met him in a pub last night before I went to the club to eat."

Toris frowned a little. "But you were starving when you left last night. How did you manage to stop at a pub just to chat?"

Normally, all the interruptions would have gotten on Alfred's nerves, but he didn't mind them today. "Well it's not like that was my plan. I went there looking for a meal and I just…found Arthur instead."

"Oh my god." Feliks sat straight up in Toris' lap, staring at Alfred intently. "Did he turn you down? Did someone actually say no to you?" He looked and sounded completely shocked, as if this was something that was never supposed to happen and _shouldn't_ happen.

Alfred nodded, looking down as he did so because, as an incubus, it was his one and only right to pride to be able to say that no human man or woman was capable of resisting him when he decided he wanted them. As much as he'd wanted Arthur, as much charm he'd put into his attempts to seduce the Brit, he'd been turned down as if he was just some kid off the street looking to get some easy fun. "He, uh, lectured me about being cocky."

A giggle burst from the younger blond. "Because you're, like, totally _cocky,_ Al," he laughed, leaning back against Toris as he continued to smile and giggle over the word. "God, that's the perfect word for you, Incubutt. Cocky. Isn't he cocky, Tor?"

The brunet smiled in spite of himself. "Yes."

As much as Alfred hated when Feliks decided to call him "Incubutt," he didn't say anything about. Normally, he would get revenge, which then led to a nice little snack, but today he didn't feel like it. "Shut up, Liks. It's not funny. Anyway, this guy is…why could he say no to me? He's human so he should have been tripping over himself just to get me to smile at him. It wasn't a complete loss 'cause I got his number and he did kiss me before he left but still. How the hell did he manage to resist me?"

Feliks shrugged, still tickled over the whole "cocky" bit. "I, like, don't know. Maybe he's just a super prude."

"No, he's not. He got really flustered and flattered when I flirted with him. It was just when I hinted at sex that he got offended. After I apologized, he agreed to go on a date with me." Proudly, he showed them the number still written on the palm of his hand. "I'm going to call him today and see if he wants to go out tonight. I'll actually be able to focus, since I won't be hungry again until tomorrow afternoon."

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Al?" Toris asked hesitantly. "We're only here for the summer. What happens when we go home?"

Shit, he hadn't thought about that. It was an excellent point—it wasn't as though ad ate with Arthur could really go anywhere. He had, at most, three months with the Brit. That wasn't enough time to build a relationship strong enough to become long-distance when Alfred went back to American in August.

_I can't do that, anyway. I'd never be able to be faithful to him. Every few days, I'd have to cheat on him just to feed and I don't want that._

Just thinking about it, imagining how it would make him feel to lie to Arthur, to hide who he was, made him feel sick. In all his years as an incubus, he'd never been in any sort of relationship that lasted more than a few weeks. His partners never got to know him, and it didn't take long for him to grow bored with them and move on.

"I…don't know," he admitted quietly, lowering his eyes to the floor. All his excitement about going on a date with Arthur seemed to drain from him. Silent, he looked at the slightly faded numbers on his palm. He wanted to call him, wanted to hear his voice and set up a time and place to meet for their date. But he didn't know if that was a good idea anymore.

Sighing, the American picked himself up out of his chair and began moving towards the door to his bedroom.

"Are you, like, gonna call him?" Feliks called after the tall blond, and Al paused in the doorway.

"I don't know if I should." Then the door shut behind him and he locked himself in his room, needing to be alone to think. It was a fancy, elegant room, perfectly decorated and designed. He wasn't at all surprised. Feliks refused to stay in any but the best hotels whenever the nymph travelled.

Al didn't bother turning on the lights and threw himself on the king-sized bed he was meant to enjoy for the summer. It was full and plush with lots of pillos and the blnakets felt like silk. It was a fantastic bed for sex.

_Arthur would probably like this._

No, he shouldn't think about that. The possibility that he would get the Brit back to the hotel _and_ into his bed was slim. Besides, he didn't want his only goal to be sleeping with him. Arthur was different from every other human he'd ever encountered and he wanted to know why.

_Call him. Go on a date. It doesn't have to lead to sex. Just a date to get to know him. Call._

Lifting his hand, Alfred examined the numbers before forcing himself off the bed. His bags sat next to the wardrobe, waiting to be unpacked. Somewhere, in one of those bags, was the pre-paid phone he'd gotten specifically for this trip.

"Feliks!" he shouted, knowing the flamboyant nymph would hear.

"Yeah?"

"Where'd you pack my phone?"

"Front pocket on the smallest suitcase," Toris' voice responded, which probably meant that, while it was supposed to be Feliks' job to pack the bags, the blond had convinced Toris to do it for him. He wasn't even mildly surprised by the idea.

"Thanks!" As the brunet had said, Al found the phone in the front pocket of his smallest suitcase. It took a moment to turn on, but as soon as it was ready to go, he punched in the number on his hand and saved it under "Arthur Sexybritches." The name made him chuckle and he imagined how red the Brit's face would turn if he ever saw it or found out. That would be something worth seeing.

"I'm calling him!"

Cheers sounded from the living room and Alfred grinned, his excitement building again as he clicked the Call option.

X

_But I would walk five hundred miles  
And I would walk five hundred more  
Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles  
To fall down at your door_

Da lat da (Da lat da), da lat da (Da lat da)  
Da-da-da dun-diddle un-diddle un-diddle uh da-da  
Da lat da (Da lat da), da lat da (Da lat da)  
Da-da-da dun-diddle un-diddle un-diddle uh da-da

The book he'd been reading fell from his hands as Arthur all but sprang out of his chair and bolted towards the bedroom. He'd left his phone on the nightstand for some reason so he had to rush to get to it before it stopped ringing. That ringtone meant it was a new number, which meant it was probably Alfred.

"Hello?" he answered breathlessly, hoping he didn't sound too nervous or excited or eager.

"_Hey there, Arthur. It's Alfred."_

A triumphant smile broke out on the green-eyed blond's face, though he kept his voice calm and polite. "Good afternoon, Alfred." He could hear the American chuckle on the other end of the line.

"_Your manners are perfect. So, I was wondering if you still wanted to go out sometime. We could grab some tea and get to know each other."_

"Yes!" The Brit froze, realizing he sounded like a teenager going to a party, then cleared his throat. "I mean, that sounds fun. I'd love to."

"_Cool. Is today all right? I can pick you up, if you want."_

Today was perfect. Today was the only day. Arthur didn't know if he could handle having to wait any longer than was absolutely necessary.

_I'm going mad._

"Yes, I'll text you my address so you don't forget it."

"_Perfect. I'll be there at, say, five? Then we can grab some dinner, too."_

Tea and dinner with Alfred. "I'll see you at five o'clock then, and don't be late," he added in a stern tone, though he was smiling.

"_I wouldn't dream of it. See you in a few hours."_

"Bye." The line clicked and went dead, and Arthur spent several moments staring at his phone as his brain attempted to register what exactly had just happened. He was going on a date with Alfred. Today. At five. He was going on a date with Alfred. They were going to get tea and dinner and go on a _date._ His first date in months and it was with a god-like American.

Wait. Five o'clock. It was already past two! He had less than three hours to get ready!

Hurriedly, he typed his address and sent it to Alfred as a text so the American would know where to pick him up from, then tossed the phone onto his bed before going to the wardrobe. Shirts and pants of all colors and styles greeted him.

"What the bloody hell am I supposed to wear?"

Frowning, he began rifling through his clothes, eventually settling on a pair of dark brown trousers and a blue button-down shirt. It was a good color for him, and was casual enough for a relaxed date without being too relaxed. He added a black blazer in case it started raining again. But, of course, he had to shower before he could get dressed, so he left the clothes laid out neatly on his bed and went into the bathroom, humming happily.

X

"Is _that_ what you're wearing?"

Alfred rolled his eyes as he picked his keys up off the coffee table. "Yes. Why?"

"Don't you think you should wear something, like, nicer?" Feliks asked, green eyes looking the American over with disapproval.

"I look fine!"

"Totally not."

He sighed and turned to face the shorter male. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

Hands on his hips, Feliks walked up to him and tugged on the collar of his shirt. "This is old and faded. Your jeans have a hole near your ankle, and would it, like, kill you to brush your hair?"

"Feliks, I'm going out for tea, not taking him to the opera."

The nymph glared at him, on the verge of pouting. "You, like, have no idea how to go on a date!"

Alfred opened his mouth to argue but stopped. Slowly, he closed his mouth. It was true, he didn't actually know what to do. This was the first time he'd had to be the one to ask someone out. He'd always been asked, and usually his "dates" ended with sex because he only went out when he was hungry. "Fine. You can redress me. But make it quick—I gotta pick him up in twenty minutes."

Gleefully triumphant, Feliks' pout transformed into a smile and he grabbed Alfred's hand, dragging the taller man back into his bedroom. "Clothes off, Incubutt! I'll have you looking totally hot in no time!"

He rolled his eyes but did as he was told, tossing the clothes that had been voted against into a nearby corner. "You're lucky I don't mind being your Ken doll."

That got a giggle out of the smaller blond as he began looking through Alfred's clothes. "And I totally appreciate it." The first thing h picked out was a pair of darkwash jeans that fit just a little bit snugger than Alfred usually wore.

"Why these?"

"They make your ass look good. You want to seduce this guy, right?"

The American's face flushed slightly. "Not really…it's just tea and dinner…"

Feliks turned and gave him a knowing look. "Dinner for you means sex. Besides, you, like, already said you wanna make love to him." He went back to looking through the clothes before Alfred could respond and ended up choosing a dark red button down shirt. "Leave the top two buttons open and roll the sleeves up to your elbows."

Silently, Alfred did as he was told as Feliks watched closely to make sure he didn't mess anything up. It only took about ten minutes, then the nymph dragged him into the bathroom and forced him to stand in front of the mirror while he brushed through his hair.

"It's going to get messed up anyway," Alfred informed him, but Feliks ignored the comment and continued what he was doing with a look of intense concentration. "Seriously, if you make me late, I'll never forgive you."

"Yes, you will." The nymph giggled and placed a teasing kiss on Alfred's cheek. "You forget that I, like, totally know all your turn-ons, incubus."

A growl escaped the American and he glared at his reflection, though he didn't argue because he knew Feliks was right—the smaller male had known him for a long, long time and was perfectly capable of arousing him at a moment's notice, even now that he had Toris.

"There!" Satisfied, Feliks stepped back to admire his handiwork. "See, totally hot. I'd sleep with you, if I was him."

"You'd sleep with me anyway."

"Totally, but only if Toris gets to play, too."

Feigning exasperation, he sighed and rolled his eyes. "If he has to."

Feliks giggled again and offered the incubus before him a flirty smile. "So, if you're hungry when you get back…"

"Then I'll use the two of you for a feast. Are you done dressing me? I need to go so I can be on time."

"You're as good as you're going to get." Dropping the flirtatious attitude, he placed a caring hand on Alfred's shoulder and smiled. "Good luck. I know he'll totally love you."

"Thanks, Liks." Alfred flashed a slightly nervous grin before retrieving his keys and leaving the hotel suite. With any luck at all, he would manage to get in Arthur's good graces by dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

He couldn't do this. He just couldn't.

_No, no, it's fine. I'm fine. I can do this._

Losing his nerve for about the fifteenth time, Arthur turned to go back into his apartment but forced himself to stop. This was no time to turn into a bleeding coward. A deep breath helped to soothe his nerves, then he turned and leaned against the railing of the stairs leading to his front door. He tried to keep a small, calm smile in place, but he was so self-conscious that it kept slipping into a worried frown or a smile that might come off as a little bit mad.

_Relax, will you? It's not that big of a deal._

How was he supposed to relax, though? Alfred was coming to pick him up and they were going on a date. His mind was still reeling from it even though he'd been getting ready for the last two-and-a-half hours. By all rights, it shouldn't have taken him nearly as long as it did, but he'd purposefully drawn out his bath in the hopes that hot water would calm him down. It hadn't worked, so he'd resorted to lighting candles and having a cup of tea, so he'd spent a good twenty minutes doing that. Combined with the bath, he'd used up at least an hour-and-a-half before he even started to get dressed. And then, despite having picked out his clothes beforehand, he'd second-guessed himself and changed more times than he cared to count just to end up in the original outfit he'd chosen.

Now, dressed with his hair combed neatly and his blazer folded over his arm, he was standing on his front steps to wait for Alfred to arrive. He wasn't sure how the American intended to "pick him up," because he hadn't seemed to own a car when they'd met the night before, but if Alfred had a means of transportation, then Arthur wasn't going to argue. Personally, his only means of transportation was a bike that rarely made it outside.

Foot tapping nervously, he glanced at his watch and the nervous smile reappeared on his pale face—Alfred would be there any minute.

_This is a terrible idea. He's going to think I'm boring just like everyone else. I should call him and tell him something came up._

Hesitantly, Arthur pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened a new message, but his fingers refused to type the words. He just couldn't bring himself to cancel, not when it was so close to five o'clock. It was too late to call Alfred and tell him not to come.

The phone was slowly put back into his pocket, then Arthur took another deep breath and shook himself a little. He was fine. He could do this.

Just then, a dull roar reached his ears and Arthur looked towards the corner, his interest caught. What on earth was that? His question was answered only a few seconds later when a large, dangerous-looking machine came around the corner and sped towards him down the street.

_Bloody hell! That _can't _be Alfred!_

To his horror, the bike slowed as it drew near, curving towards the curb, then came to a halt; the man astride it stopped the engine and straightened before removing his helmet. Sure enough, sitting astride that bike as if it was a throne and he was the king of the world, Alfred shook out his ash blond hair and grinned at Arthur.

"Hey." He paused, blue eyes examining the Brit. "You look great."

Arthur blushed lightly. "Thank you." It was all he could manage to say. He was too busy staring at the bike Alfred was straddling so comfortably. His limbs felt stiff and heavy and he didn't think he could have taken a step closer to the American if his life depended on it.

"You okay?" Alfred asked, frowning in concern. Hanging his helmet on one of the bike's handlebars, he used his foot to release a kick stand and got off the bike, letting it lean heavily on the stand as he came up the stairs to where Arthur was still frozen. "Arthur?"

Green eyes flickered towards him before going back to the bike. Even still and abandoned by its rider, the machine was menacing; he swallowed thickly.

"Are we…riding that?" he asked quietly, and Alfred nodded enthusiastically.

"Sure are!" His grin dazzled Arthur for a moment and he looked at the motorcycle with obvious pride. "Harley Davidson Sportster 1200, custom made for yours truly."

Yes, the bike was obviously custom made. There was something about it that, while Arthur was terrified of the thought of actually riding it, fit Alfred as if he was meant to drive that bike and nothing else. And the paint job was obviously just as American as Alfred himself. Red and white stripes, star-spangled blue and even the screeching head of a bald eagle decorated the bike.

"It's…lovely," he commented, forcing a small smile.

"Come on!" His excitement getting the better of him, Alfred took hold of the Brit's hand and pulled him down the last few steps until they were both standing on the curb; Arthur's face turned a deep red and he looked down at the black leather-clad hand wrapped firmly around his own.

_He's holding my hand._

"Oh! Almost forgot!" With an embarrassed laugh, Alfred reached out and took the helmet off the handlebar and held it out to Arthur. "I only have one helmet," he said apologetically, and Arthur accepted the helmet with a nervous smile. With Alfred's help, he managed to put it on and settle it comfortably around his skull. Then Alfred, in a movement so easy that it was obvious he'd done it countless times, swung a leg over the bike and straightened it—the kickstand sprang back into place.

"Come on, Artie," he said, holding a hand out to the Brit.

Nervous, Arthur put on his blazer so as not to lose it then placed his hand into Alfred's and carefully climbed onto the bike, taking his place behind the American as the leather seat creaked under their combined weight. It was strange but not uncomfortable, and he found that he didn't mind being so close to Alfred. The American smelled like leather and some sort of spicy cologne.

"Wrap your arms around me," Alfred commanded gently, patting his side to show where, then he pointed to a spot behind Arthur's leg, "and prop your feet up on those little braces."

Arthur obediently did as he was told, holding onto the bike and Alfred as tightly as he could without hurting the man sitting in front of him.

The American looked over his shoulder, grinning when he met Arthur's nervous gaze; the green of his eyes was visible even through the tinted visor. "Ready?"

"I-I guess," the Briton forced out, and Alfred's grinned widened.

"Hold on tight!" Then he brought the motorcycle to life, rumbling like a beast as it vibrated beneath them. The sensation sent tingles up Arthur's spine and he bit his lip to stifle a quiet moan that probably wouldn't have been audible over the bike's engine, anyway. But he still didn't want to give off any signs that the bike was actually turning him on a little. It was just a bike, after all. He didn't have a chance to think of anything else before Alfred revved the engine and set off down the street.

_I'm going to die oh my god!_

Why didn't this thing have a seatbelt?! It was dangerous and bloody stupid to put this big of a machine on the road without seatbelts! The wind pulled at his clothes as if trying to strip him naked and he could feel himself starting to slide backwards; his arms tightened around Alfred as he pulled himself back into the proper position.

"You okay?" The wind nearly stole Alfred's words away before Arthur could hear them.

"F-fine!" he shouted back, face tucked into the American's shoulder to keep from being buffeted by the wind.

"Lean with me!"

It took him a moment to understand what that meant, but when Alfred turned the bike around a corner, Arthur felt himself being pulled to the outside and clung to the larger male even tighter, following his movements so he wouldn't cause them to crash. And, as terrified as he was of the bike, it only took him a few moments of having his eyes shut tight with his helmeted head buried in Alfred's back for him to start to calm down. The torso his arms were around was sturdy, Alfred rode the bike with confidence and ease, and the machine between his legs ran like it was brand new.

_Okay…maybe it's not so bad,_ he told himself, opening one eye enough to watch buildings pass by on their left. They weren't going that fast, only twenty-five miles or so, and he felt safe enough after realizing that to sit up a little straighter and actually look around. Already, they were several blocks from his apartment, heading towards a small business district where they could stop for tea and grab dinner on the same street. He knew the area fairly well—it was a good place to go on a first date.

_At least he knows what he's doing._

Several minutes later, Alfred turned the motorcycle onto the street and came to a stop after rolling into an empty parking space. Most of the street was full of pedestrians, and all the shops were close enough to walk to within a few minutes, so there was little sense in trying to take the bike all the way to the shop he wanted to visit.

"You can let go now," he said, grinning over his shoulder again. Not that he minded that Arthur hadn't released his hold on the American's waist, but he did need the Brit to let go if they were going to get up.

Slowly, Arthur took his hands from where he'd locked them together around Alfred's middle and shakily got up, his knees just a little wobbly. He took a few stumbling steps away from the motorcycle as he struggled to remove the helmet; hands covered his own and he froze.

"Let me." With a gentle tug, Alfred easily removed the helmet and tucked it under his arm. "How was the ride?"

Free of the helmet, the smaller blond patted at his hair self-consciously, hoping it wasn't mussed from wearing the helmet. Only once he was satisfied that it was still presentable did he look up and meet Alfred's gaze.

"It was interesting, to say the least."

"You didn't seem like you'd ever been on a bike before," the American commented as the two began making their way down the street.

"I hadn't."

Of course not. "Well, maybe that won't be the only thing I get to introduce you to," he responded in a slightly flirtatious tone, resisting the urge to wink and slip his arm around the Brit's waist to pull him close. Those tactics, the ones he relied on for food, had already failed him once and he wasn't about to be rejected again in front of all these people. That, and he didn't want to simply seduce Arthur. Just looking at those green eyes, so much brighter during the day than they'd been in the bar last night, made him want to win the Brit over in every way he could manage.

Arthur blushed at the implication in Alfred's tone, gaze downturned in a shy manner that Alfred found to be adorable. "Maybe."

_Who is this guy?_

All it took was that shy response and he wanted to pull the smaller man into a hug, lift him off his feet and spin him around in a circle, then set him down again and kiss him while he was still breathless. In his head, it was a great idea and Alfred found himself grinning just imagining it.

But he tucked his hands safely into his pockets as he walked beside the shorter blond with a lazy grin fixed in place. He wanted to put his arm around the Brit's shoulder or hold his hand—he'd given in for a moment by pulling the older man down the steps of his apartment—but he knew he shouldn't do either of those, not on the first date. Besides, he'd already gotten Arthur onto a motorcycle. It was probably best not to push it, at least for today.

Quiet, Alfred led the way to small tea shop that was tucked between two larger buildings. A bell jingled above the door as they entered, and Alfred looked around curiously, still smiling.

"Nice place."

Arthur nodded in agreement. It was a cozy little shop, with small tables where two or three or even just one person could sit and enjoy their tea or whatnot, read a book or watch the people walk by outside. There was a small sign that read, "Please Seat Yourselves" just inside the door, so Alfred chose a table near the front windows where they'd be able to look outside if they wanted to. Smiling, he pulled a chair out for Arthur and pushed it in for him as the Brit sat.

"Thank you," Arthur said, looking a little surprised at the American's manners.

Alfred grinned as he settled into the other chair across the table from the golden blond. "Come on, you didn't think I was gonna be bad at this whole date thing, did you? Cut me some slack."

The Brit blushed lightly and looked down at the white tablecloth. "No, I didn't think that." He didn't voice the fact that he was positive Alfred was going to be nothing short of a god during this date and that he, Arthur, would in fact be the one to mess things up.

"So, what would you like to talk about?" Alfred asked, resting his forearms on the table as he smiled at the shorter blond.

"Oh, um," green eyes darted around the café as Arthur searched desperately for something to talk about, something other than his boring job or boring hobbies, "well, why don't you tell me about your experiences here in London so far?"

_Well, I had sex with a complete stranger last night and I met you and that's about it. She was drunk and probably doesn't even remember my name but I'm used to that. Food is food, you know? And I mean, she instigated it so I'm not gonna feel bad about a one-night stand._

Yeah, that was exactly what he wanted to say to Arthur. Perfect. He'd end up with a fork in his forehead and an angry Brit storming out of the shop, slamming the door on his way. No way in hell was he saying any of that.

"Eh, you know. Met a cute guy, scored his number, goin' on a date. Pretty excited about it."

Arthur's face was practically flaming. Cute? Excited? "O-oh? How d'you think it's going?"

The American grinned, looking down at the tabletop so that he could peer at Arthur over his glasses and through his bangs. "Pretty well, actually. I think he likes me."

That made Arthur's blush darken even more and he looked away from those amazing eyes, fiddling with how his silverware were arranged on his napkin. Was he really that transparent that Alfred could already tell how very attracted he was to the tourist? He was usually so cold and detached from his feelings that being flirted with to blatantly was a little unnerving. Yet Alfred was flawless in his flirtation.

"Do you, now?" he asked, trying to play a bit coy because he really had too much pride to give in so easily, especially to someone he'd just met.

"Yeah, I mean, he agreed to go out with me, so that's gotta mean _somethin',_" Alfred pointed out, "and I think he trusts me already."

Now Arthur placed his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together, letting his chin rest on them. He couldn't help but smirk just slightly at the game they'd started to play. "Why do you think that?"

"I got 'im on my bike."

"And you think that means he likes you."

"Yep. Gettin' a guy on your bike is a pretty big deal." With a self-congratulatory grin, Alfred leaned back in his chair with his hands locked behind his head. "I got a feelin' this guy's gonna be different from the rest, and I think I like that."

The word made Arthur's heart skip a beat—he was different? "How so?"

How to put this in a way that wouldn't be offensive to the polite Briton sitting across the table. Blue eyes examined Arthur's face, noting how one eyebrow was lifted just slightly to compliment his smirk, how his expression was calm and relaxed despite the faint blush that still lingered around the pale man's neck.

"Well, for starters, he's the first guy to ever lecture me about being cocky."

Arthur groaned internally, remembering once again how completely unlike himself he'd been in the pub last night. It was completely unlike him to accuse anyone, much less a stranger, of being "cocky," especially over something so small and harmless as flirting. "Is that all?"

"He's also the best-looking man I've ever met, and he seems pretty smart, and accents are sexy so that's always a plus," Alfred listed off the traits as if he'd actually taken the time to think about why he liked Arthur. He pretended not to notice the way the smaller man blushed, choosing instead to smile widely because it really was adorable to see the smaller man all flustered

_Kiss him,_ his brain urged, but he ignored that because he wasn't hungry and he wasn't going to make a total ass of himself when he was just finally starting to really make a good impression on Arthur.

"Good luck with him, then. I'm sure he won't be able to resist you."

The compliment made Alfred grin. "That's what I'm hoping."

This whole "date" business was already going just as well has he' dared to hope.


	4. Chapter 4

Still grinning, Alfred shifted in his chair and stretched his arms out over his head, leaning back a little; he knew full well that his shirt would complement the body beneath it. It didn't escape his notice that Arthur's eyes slowly lifted to look him up and down or how the Brit swallowed as if trying to come up with something to say or like he was trying to hold something back—mission accomplished. The American let out a contented sigh and relaxed.

"All right, your turn. What were you doing in that pub last night, all by yourself?" His eyes rested on the Brit's face as he methodically pulled on the fingers of his gloves to remove them then tucked them into his jacket pocket.

Ah, not a question he particularly wanted to answer. Arthur tore his gaze from that handsome face, shoving back the thoughts that had invaded his mind after watching the tourist stretch. "Having a drink. What did it look like I was doing?" he asked as casually as he could, his head tilting to one side just slightly as his eyes locked onto the white tablecloth.

"Well, you looked kinda lonely."

Brilliant. He'd caught the American's eye because he looked like a lonely drunk sitting in a pub on a Friday night who could use some company. No wonder the tall blond had come to talk to him. "I wasn't lonely. I simply enjoy the peaceful quiet of having a drink on my own once in a while."

Alfred shrugged, his easy grin unfaltering. "My mistake, then. I'm glad I decided to talk to you, anyway."

"You mean hit on me," Arthur corrected, giving the taller man a knowing look. To his delight, an embarrassed smile replaced the taller man's confident expression.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I really didn't mean to come off as rude."

Arthur returned the smile before looking down at the table again, fidgeting. "And I didn't mean to come off sounding like a stuffy old git."

"No, no, you were right to be offended. I crossed a line and I'm glad you decided to give me a second chance, anyway," Alfred assured him, leaning forward to reach across the table and place his hand over Arthur's. Immediately, Arthur felt himself growing warmer and he couldn't resist the urge to look at the tanned, rough-palmed hand that was suddenly holding his own.

_He's holding my hand again. Why is he holding my hand?_

It made him nervous and he felt too warm but at the same time he couldn't help but feel relaxed and comforted by the gesture, as if this blue-eyed man was literally making him feel better about their interactions the night before. But that, of course, was impossible. He probably only felt that way because the American's hand was warm and large enough to nearly cover his own hand, which was obviously more delicate and significantly paler than the tourist's. That, and Alfred's palm was calloused but not in an abrasive way so his grip felt strong and firm. Arthur had the irrational feeling that this man could handle just about anything and never lose that move star grin.

Swallowing thickly, the Brit forced his eyes away from their still-touching hands and looked Alfred in the eyes. He nearly swooned on the spot to find those eyes staring at him so intently, the clearest blue he'd ever seen. Part of him wanted to hide from the American's gaze, felt exposed and vulnerable as if the man possessed the ability to see right through him. Another part brought an instinctive blush to his face and he smiled nervously though he couldn't bring himself to look away. The rest of him, well, the rest of him wanted to lean forward like Alfred was and kiss him right there. It was the same impulsive feeling that had caused him to kiss the American in the pub last night, but he ignored it to the best of his ability now. They were sitting in a tea shop on a rare sunny afternoon, after all, not a dim pub on a Friday night.

"Do it."

The words barely registered in Arthur's mind and he blinked slowly, still frozen. "What?"

"I can tell you want to, Artie. I want you to, too. You can do it. It won't hurt anything," Alfred promised, his voice low and soft, soothing, making Arthur feel like absolutely nothing could be wrong with the world in that moment.

"I don't…" the Briton began, but his voice faded out before he could finish telling Alfred that he didn't know what the bespectacled man was talking about. He barely registered the fact that he was leaning forward just a little and slowly moving closer, his hand moving so that his fingers were laced through the taller man's. Alfred smiled, blue eyes unchanging as Arthur got closer and closer until the green-eyed man was on the edge of his seat and leaning over the table. They were less than an inch away now, able to feel each other's breath as they stared.

"Alfred." The name came out on a sigh and Arthur's hand tightened slightly. The American smiled a little more.

"Kiss me," he whispered beseechingly, and then Arthur leaned forward until the gap that had existed between them was gone. Neither man missed its presence as they became completely absorbed in the kiss and each other. Green eyes fell shut and were shortly followed by blue as the simple act of lips touching turned into more than that, turned into lips moving together and breaths mingling as tongues that were too shy to investigate further than little tastes danced against lips. Their hands gripped each other tightly out of the desperation to be closer to each other, trying to make up for the fact that there was a table in the way.

It was mind-numbing and Arthur didn't know what he was doing, didn't know when he'd decided to kiss the American like this in public but knew that it was the only thing he wanted. And yet it wasn't enough somehow because of that damn table being in the way and he just wanted to be closer, wanted to lose himself in those blue eyes and that charming smile and those strong hands and the perfect body that shouldn't have existed but did. He wanted to lose himself in everything that was Alfred.

_Need more,_ his mind whispered, and he was mere seconds away from letting out a pitiful sounding whine when someone cleared their throat in an obviously irritated fashion. The sound broke through the haze his mind had so quickly become lost in and he jerked, sitting back in his chair as his eyes went wide. He was panting lightly, face flushed as he stared at Alfred in shock. Also out of breath, the American stared back at him with an expression that was confused and apologetic but also _wanting_ in a way that made Arthur feel extremely self-conscious. What the bloody hell had he been thinking, kissing the man like that in a tea shop?

"If the two of you are quite finished," someone spoke up, and both men turned to see a waitress standing by their table, a notepad in one hand while the other rested on her hip. She was giving them a look of strong disapproval and seemed like she wanted to ask them to leave but was holding back.

"I'm very sorry," Arthur spoke up first, offering the woman an embarrassed smile. "That was rude of us. It won't happen again."

She didn't look like she believed him, but after a moment she sighed. "See that it won't, please. Now, what can I get for you gentlemen today?"

Relief flooded him and Arthur relaxed in his chair. "Black tea with milk and one spoon of sugar, please."

"Coffee, black," Alfred told her once she'd written down Arthur's order and turned to the American.

"I'll have those for you in just a moment." Then she turned and walked away towards the kitchen. Arthur watched her go, his eyes glued to her back in order to keep himself from looking at Alfred, from seeing those damn eyes and that blasted smile. What was it about this man, this bloody _tourist_ that had him acting like the complete opposite of himself?

"Arthur."

"Shut it."

"What?"

Turning, Arthur scowled at the man sitting across from him, his arms folded over his chest. "I don't want to hear it, Alfred. Whatever excuse you've conjured up for doing that in broad daylight and in public, I don't care. Let's just enjoy our drinks and leave before we get thrown out, all right?"

Alfred was quiet for a moment as he regarded the Brit. Then he nodded and looked out the window, leaning back in his chair with his hands in his lap. He looked upset and a little guilty, which Arthur thought was entirely the way it should be.

_What was he thinking, kissing me like that? We're in public, for Christ's sake! And we barely know each other!_

He didn't think about the fact that he'd wanted to kiss the American just as badly as Alfred had said, and he certainly didn't want to try to figure out how Alfred had known what he was thinking. It didn't matter, anyway. All that mattered was that he'd somehow ended up practically snogging someone who was barely more than a stranger, in a tea shop on a Saturday afternoon. Even worse, he'd been caught by a waitress and could have been thrown out of the shop for it.

_Well…it's definitely the most interesting date I've ever been on._

That wasn't something he could deny, and the longer he sat there watching Alfred stare out the window, the more he felt he'd been a little hard on the younger man. He'd been the one to close that gap, after all; a sigh escaped him.

"Alfred."

Blue eyes turned to him, though they weren't as bright as before. "Hm?"

Arthur hesitated before taking a slightly deeper breath than normal. Then he smiled. "I'm sorry. I keep doing this to you. What happened wasn't your fault and I'm sorry for blaming you the way I did."

The American smiled just slightly. "It's all right. I did get carried away."

"Yes, but so did I."

Uneasy smiles were exchanged as they regarded each other. Well, at least he'd managed to admit to being wrong, and the dimness that had leaked into Alfred's eyes was already starting to fade.

_Good. I don't want him upset because of me._

They had yet to say anything more when the waitress returned with their drinks, which they thanked her for in a properly embarrassed way. The quiet continued and Arthur sipped his tea in order to give himself something to do. He watched the other man over the rim of his cup, his curiosity about him growing. Everything about Alfred fascinated him and, despite having taken several drinks of his tea, he could still taste the American when he licked his lips. It was a pleasant taste, refreshing and warm and minty so he knew the taller man had brushed his teeth before coming to pick him up.

_How cute, _he thought with a small smile. Gently, he placed his cup back on its saucer, the china clinking ever so softly when it touched.

"Where are you from, Alfred?" The question was light and curious, designed to start up conversation because Arthur was growing bored with the silence. He watched as Alfred swallowed a mouthful of his coffee—how could he drink that rubbish?—and slowly set down mug.

"I'm from American, o'course." A playful grin appeared on his face and Arthur fought back a scowl, settling for pursing his lips and raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, but where in America?"

Alfred shrugged. "I've lived all over. Where do you think I'm from?"

Unwilling to answer and be wrong, Arthur shook his head as he smiled slightly. "I'm not guessing. Your accent is American but I can't place it."

The blue-eyed man grinned and laid one arm on the table, leaning forward. "You like my accent, Artie?"

The playful, teasing tone made Arthur's ears turn red, though he refused to show any other sign of his reaction.

"I might, if I knew what sort of accent it was," the Brit countered, sitting back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other as he picked up his cup and took another drink of his tea.

"It's American."

_Frustrating wanker!_

Arthur rolled his eyes. "There's not need to be difficult, Alfred. It's a simple question. Aren't we supposed to be getting to know each other? We're on our first date, after all."

Blue and green eyes met as the two regarded each other, waiting for the next move of the game to be made.

"I was born near Boston, on a small farm," Alfred finally conceded. "I worked there with my father until I was eighteen. I had odd jobs for a few years before I met Feliks. He's a fashion designer and hired me to be a male model. I've been doing that ever since."

_A model. Of course._

It made so much sense that Arthur was almost embarrassed he hadn't thought of it himself. Of course this perfect man was a model. What else would he be? And growing up working on a farm—little wonder his palms were calloused and he was so muscular.

_I'm on a date with an American model. I _kissed_ an American _model.

How had he ever managed to catch this man's eye?

"Don't go all quiet on me, now," Alfred said, trying to smile as Arthur continued to stare at him.

The green-eyed man blinked. "I'm sorry. It's just that I'm really not surprised, and I'm trying to figure out why a man like you would be interested in someone like me," he admitted, looking into his tea as if the brown liquid could give him the answer.

"Someone like you?" Alfred repeated, a confused frown appearing on his handsome face. "Why wouldn't I be interested in you?"

Arthur shrugged, silent. There were so many reasons why Alfred shouldn't be interested in him that Arthur felt like he might choke on them if he tried to speak. How many negative attributes had been thrown at him over the years? Cold, distant, stubborn, old-fashioned, stingy, boring, coward. He was too quiet, too set in his ways. He was plain and unattractive and too temperamental for anyone to put up with him.

_Ugly. That's the word they use. I'm ugly inside and out because I have a temper and I'm too pale, too skinny and…_

He had to make a conscious effort not to lift a hand and cover his forehead.

_Bushy brows. Caterpillars. Disgusting. Unhygienic. Why didn't he pluck them? He might be handsome, then._

The memories put a bitter taste in his mouth and he took a drink of his tea to try to wash it away. It was then that he realized how long it had been since Alfred asked the question that he had yet to answer.

"I, uh, have been told unpleasant things about myself," he mumbled quietly, feeling extra self-conscious about his appearance and personality. God, he wanted to prove them all wrong, wanted to show them that Arthur Kirkland was everything but the labels that had been attached to him. But what if he couldn't do it? What if Alfred developed the same opinion as the others before him?

The thought almost crushed him, made him want to go home and wrap himself in a big fluffy blanket and never come out again.

"Hey," he looked up to see a reassuring smile on Alfred's face, "I don't care what anyone has said or will ever say about you or to you. I don't care. I barely know you, and I already know that whatever 'unpleasant things' you've been told are wrong. Whoever said them is wrong about you, Arthur Kirkland."

Speechless, the Brit stared back at him for several moments before he couldn't help it anymore. A smile broke out over his face and he knew he would have hugged the American had they not been seated across from each other the way they were. There were even tears beginning to form under his eyes, though he held them back with everything he had. Now was not the time to start crying, especially not in front of Alfred in the middle of a tea shop.

"Thank you," he murmured, and the American nodded slightly, smiling unwavering. To cover up how emotional he'd become, Arthur finished off his tea and began searching his pockets for his wallet. "So, ah, where did you want to go for dinner?" Before he could take out enough money to pay for his tea, Alfred placed several notes on the table top, separating it into two piles.

"I'm buying," he stated firmly upon seeing Arthur's confused expression. "We're on a date, after all." That earned a blush and nod from the Briton.

"What about that?" Arthur asked, indicating the other pile.

Alfred grinned as he tucked his wallet back into his jeans pocket and stood. "A tip for the waitress, as both an apology for what happened and a thank you that she didn't throw us out."

"Oh." He'd almost completely forgotten about that already, which was surprising because he usually held onto his embarrassment and anger for days. This time, he'd only managed to stay upset for about five minutes.

_What _is_ it about this man that makes him affect me so much?_ the paler blond wondered, following Alfred out of the tea shop and down the street. On an impulse, he quickened his pace to walk beside the American and slipped his arm through Alfred's. He kept his gaze straight forward, though he knew he was blushing and that Alfred had looked at him in surprise. Still, he didn't pull his arm back or give himself the chance to regret doing it.

"Where are we going for dinner?" he asked after a few moments had passed, glancing up at the American to find that a rather smug smile had appeared on Alfred's face.

"There's a restaurant near the river I wanna try. I thought it would be nice if we could watch the sunset while we ate."

_A sunset over the river? So he's a romantic._

He'd never had much patience for romance—it always got him embarrassed and flustered—though after how interesting tea had been, he definitely wanted to see how dinner would go whether it was romantic or not.

Tightening his grip on Alfred's arm just slightly, Arthur smiled. "Sounds lovely."


	5. Chapter 5

The American had chosen a fancier restaurant than Arthur was expecting, though he told himself not to be surprised and remained silent, still with his arm linked through the taller man's. A handsome young man standing at a small podium smiled at them as soon as they walked in the door. He had dark, neatly combed hair and a nice smile, was almost as tall as Alfred and not quite as broad in the shoulder.

"Hello, table for two?"

"We have a reservation, actually," Alfred replied, his own comfortable grin in place as he interacted with the greeter. "Six o'clock for Jones."

It only took the greeter a moment to locate Alfred's last name on the list and his smile grew slightly. "We have the perfect table for you, Mister Jones." Gesturing for them to follow, he picked up two menus and abandoned the podium.

He led them deeper into the restaurant, past the main seating area to a dimmer section that consisted of smaller tables and booths. There were bouquets and candles set out as the centerpieces and Arthur felt his face grow warm—it was a bit on the romantic side, as he'd suspected it might be. Just like in the tea shop, Alfred pulled his chair out for him before taking his own seat.

The greeter handed them each a menu. "Your waitress for this evening will be here shortly to take your drink orders. Have a lovely evening, gentlemen."

"Thank you," Arthur responded, speaking quietly with his eyes lowered. Still, he didn't miss how the young man flashed a smile at Alfred before walking away from their table. The greeter really was very good looking, definitely the type to work in an elegant restaurant like this one. It made Arthur feel a bit self-conscious and he discreetly made sure that his shirt was straight and tucked in, that his cuffs hadn't been twisted. Did he still look all right? Had the helmet messed up his hair? No, Alfred would have told him so he could fix it. He looked fine. He was okay.

"You're getting quiet again."

Arthur blushed lightly, embarrassed to have been caught examining himself. "Sorry."

"Is something wrong?" Alfred asked with genuine concern.

Glancing up, Arthur saw the blue-eyed man watching him with a small, worried frown; he forced a bright smile. "I'm fine." Despite his assurance and smile, Alfred didn't look like he believed the Brit, and Arthur quickly picked up his menu. "What are you ordering?"

Still frowning a little, Alfred picked up his own menu and scanned it. "I'm not sure—I've never been here before."

"Neither have I."

They were quiet as they tried to decide, though Arthur was only partially focused on his menu. His thoughts kept wandering back to the greeter. Had Alfred looked at him? Stupid question. Of course he'd looked. Why shouldn't he? He was fairly attractive, even handsome. There was no reason for Alfred not to look.

"Hello, gentlemen," a polite voice sounded from beside their table, and both men looked up to see a young woman standing there. She wore a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled back to her elbows and black dress pants with a classic black half-apron tied around her waist.

"Hi," Alfred greeted her with a movie star smile spreading across his face. The woman stared for a moment before offering her own shyer smile.

"Do you know what you would like to drink this evening, sir?"

The flirtatious tone she used made Arthur scowl and he found himself glad that she wasn't looking at him. All of her attention was focused on Alfred and she'd shifted her weight onto one leg so that her hip stuck out. And Alfred was smiling at her with those brilliant blue eyes and perfectly tousled hair—no wonder she'd so quickly decided to pay attention to the American and more or less ignore Arthur. It made him feel hot under the collar and he slouched down in his chair ever so slightly, directing his gaze to the tabletop.

"Actually," Alfred began, turning those damn eyes on Arthur, "you'll have to ask him."

Green eyes widened in surprise and Arthur stared at the taller blond, silently asking him just what the hell he thought he was doing. Unfortunately, the waitress was turning to face him so he quickly sat up in his chair and did his best to smile.

"What can I get for you?" Her tone was completely different as she stared at Arthur, her expression neutral. All the flirtiness she'd been displaying mere seconds ago was gone and she looked bored and a little bit grudging now that Alfred had forced her to pay attention to Arthur.

"Apple cider for me, please." Then he looked at Alfred and smiled. "Just water for him. He's driving us home." His attention went back to the waitress in time to see the look in her eyes at the word "home." She scrutinized him as if trying to figure out why on earth _he_ was there with Alfred, what was so special about him that he'd managed to snare the American's interest. It gave him a vicious sense of pleasure to know that he was the one on a date with the American, rather than her.

"I'll have those right out for you." Her back was stiff as she turned and walked away, and Arthur couldn't help but smirk a little as he watched her vanish around a corner.

"She was something, huh," Alfred commented, and Arthur turned to find amused blue eyes trained on him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied lightly, though he was still smiling a little.

Alfred grinned. "You handled that really well, Artie," the American's tone turned teasing, "even though you did get jealous when she flirted with me."

"I wasn't jealous," the Brit protested, his cheeks heating slightly.

"Yeah, you were." Alfred smirked and leaned partway across the table. "I know how we can fix that, though."

"And how exactly do you intend to 'fix' my jealousy? Which, by the way, is ridiculous because I _wasn't_ jealous."

"Well," Alfred looked down at the table for a moment before looking up at Arthur through his bangs with a gentle smile. "We could always kiss in front of this waitress, too."

Instantly, Arthur flushed a dark red and looked down at his hands in his lap. "Why on earth would we do that?" he asked quietly, embarrassed to have been reminded of his lapse of self control while they'd been in the tea shop.

"So she'd know I'm only interested in you."

_I'm only interested in you._

The words echoed in his head and Arthur felt dizzy for a moment. Alfred was interested in _him,_ after the handsome greeter flashing him that smile, and the waitress flirting with him so openly, somehow, Arthur had managed to keep the American all to himself.

"You git," he muttered, though he was smiling and wouldn't have been able to stop even if he'd wanted to, "you'll get us kicked out before we even get our food, saying things like that."

"So you don't want to kiss me?"

"I didn't say that." He refused to look at him, refused to see that smile and meet those blue eyes, see the want in them because he knew it would be there, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to resist. Just like in the tea shop, he wouldn't even have the chance to think about what he was doing. It would just happen, and Arthur wasn't sure if that was a good thing. Yes, Alfred was handsome, gorgeous—he'd even be willing to use the term "inhuman beauty"—but that was no reason to kiss the man in a tea shop and then a restaurant the day after meeting the American.

To his surprise, Alfred chose not to comment on that and Arthur took the opportunity to look at his menu again in order to decide what to order.

"I think I'll have the dumplings," he said after a moment, finally daring to look up at the American.

Alfred found the meal on his own menu. "Are you choosing that cause it's good or cause it's one of the cheapest things on the menu?"

The green-eyed man almost scoffed because nothing on this menu was cheap, though he resisted. "I'm not going to pick the most expensive option."

"Why not?"

The question took him off-guard and Arthur stared at the American sitting across from him. "Because I'm sure you'll insist on paying for me again and I'm not going to be a git and run up the bill."

"Arthur." A serious yet somehow amused expression appeared on Alfred's face. "Order whatever you want. Don't even look at the prices."

Reluctant, the smaller male examined his counterpart. "Are you sure?"

"Yep."

Wow. This was a situation that Arthur had never been in before. Order whatever he wanted without even bothering to look at what things cost? Alfred was either extremely generous or extremely wealthy.

_Idiot. He's a male model vacationing in London for the summer. Of course he has enough money to get a reservation at a nice restaurant and buy whatever meal he wants._

So it really didn't matter if he picked the most expensive item on the menu, but Arthur didn't think he could bring himself to do that even if he had a hundred percent guarantee that it would be the best meal he'd ever have in his entire life. It just wasn't in his character to make a decision without considering all the aspects, and in this case, that meant the cost. But he didn't want to annoy Alfred by seeming stingy, so he forced his green eyes to ignore the small printed numbers as he perused the menu for a second time.

There were a few dozen options to choose from, though most weren't suitable for dinner on a Saturday. It took him several moments to decide what to order since Alfred had vetoed his original choice.

"Roast pork with apple sauce," he announced, though he was careful not to raise his voice since this dim area made him feel as though he would be scolded if he made too much noise.

His own menu open in his hands, Alfred stared back at the Briton, his face blank.

"What?" Arthur asked, feeling self-conscious again.

"You eat apple sauce with roast pork?" the American asked in disbelief.

"Yes, of course."

Alfred blinked, starting to look mildly disgusted. "Dude, that's…weird."

Indignant, Arthur sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "No, it's not."

"Yeah, it is."

"How do you eat your applesauce, then?" the Brit demanded, and Alfred shrugged.

"Usually out of a little plastic cup as a snack or something during the summer, but not with roast pork."

_Right. American and British cuisine aren't the same thing._

Doing his best to drop the slight irritation he was beginning to feel, Arthur took a deep breath. "It's a little bit different than the apple sauce you have in America, Alfred. Here, it's very common to eat apple sauce with roasted pork."

"Really?"

Arthur nodded and a thoughtful look replaced Alfred's confused one. "Hm."

It actually gave him a small sense of pride to know that he was more knowledgeable than Alfred about something, even though it was only about the food he'd grown up with. Of course the American didn't know that apple sauce was a common condiment for roast pork. "Have you decided on what you want?"

A grin spread over the American's face and he set down his menu. "Nope."

One of Arthur's eyebrows lifted. "Aren't you going to look?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Cause I'm not ordering."

Arthur set down his menu, tilting his head as he looked at the tall blond sitting across from him. "You're not going to eat? But we're out for dinner."

"Oh, I'll eat. I'm just not ordering."

It was quiet as they stared at each other, then Arthur's face went blank and he sat back in his chair.

"You're going to make me order for you, aren't you."

"Yep."

"Why?" he demanded, and Alfred chuckled. Before the bespectacled tourist could answer, however, their waitress returned with a tray holding two glasses of water.

"Here we are!" she said brightly, setting one glass in front of Alfred with a smile then placing the other on Arthur's side of the table. Once again, she chose to focus on Alfred, and Arthur took the opportunity to scrutinize his companion's expression. Alfred was smiling, everything about his posture and expression the height of manners as he thanked the waitress for their drinks. But Arthur recognized something in the man's eyes, something about the way his smile held just the hint of a smirk, that made him think the American was planning something.

_What is he thinking?_

"Do you know what you would like to order this evening?" she asked the blue-eyed tourist, and Alfred pointed at Arthur, smile still in place.

"He's the boss, he gets to decide."

The boss? Arthur's face heated and he glared at Alfred for a moment before smiling at the waitress, though he didn't manage to hide his embarrassment. Her expression was irritated now, not simply put out that Alfred wasn't returning any of her invitations for him to flirt with her.

"What would you like?" she asked tonelessly, and Arthur's smile became forced as he tried not to let his own annoyance show.

"The roast pork with apple sauce, please," he responded, pausing as she wrote it down, "and bangers and mash."

A strained smile appeared on the waitresses face. "Great." She turned to Alfred, this time not bothering to widen her smile or cock her hip. "I'll have those out as soon as they're ready." Then she was gone, and Alfred had the biggest grin that Arthur had ever seen.

"You're a wanker," was all Arthur said, and the American burst out laughing.

"You should have seen your face!" he gasped out between laughs, tears forming under his eyes. "And she was so mad that I wouldn't flirt with her!"

Arthur almost couldn't believe how happy this whole situation was making the other man, but he couldn't be annoyed by it. To be honest, he thought it was funny, too, that the waitress had so obviously been attracted to Alfred only for the American to completely ignore it. Eventually, Alfred's laughing became contagious and he let out a few chuckles.

"All right, all right. It was funny," he admitted, and Alfred took several deep breaths to calm himself.

"I'm glad you went along with it, Artie," the American finally managed to say once he'd calmed himself, smiling across the table at the Brit. His blue eyes were even brighter than before and Arthur felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Alfred."

"Yeah?"

Slowly, hesitatingly, Arthur leaned forward across the table and smiled shyly. "You still want that kiss?"

The American's eyes widened in surprise and he nodded mutely before leaning across the table as well. He paused for a moment, staring into Arthur's green eyes, then smiled and closed the gap between them.

As soon as he felt warm lips against his own, Arthur let his eyes fall shut and returned the kiss. It only lasted for a few moments, and he could tell that Alfred was being careful not to get carried away like they had in the tea shop, but it was a nice enough kiss. When the taller man pulled away again, he looked down at the table to hide his blush.

"What's the matter?" Alfred asked quietly, and Arthur shook his head.

"Nothing."

_Two kisses in one day. Our first date, and we've kissed twice. What is happening to me? I wanted to do this and have a whirlwind romance adventure and Alfred is definitely capable of sweeping me off my feet. Normally, I'd feel rushed and smothered if someone kissed me twice during the first date, but with Alfred…I don't. He isn't rushing me. He's just…kissable._

"Arthur?"

He looked up at the American and smiled a little. "Yes?"

"Is it all right that I kissed you again?" He looked genuinely worried that he'd done something wrong, and Arthur wanted to hug him.

"Of course it is." He smiled and took a drink of his cider then winked in what he hoped was a playful manner. "It was my idea, after all. You did say that I'm the boss."

A grin spread over Alfred's face. "I did. So, does the boss have any other orders for me?"

Arthur hummed thoughtfully and took another drink. "Not at the moment. But I'll try to come up with something fun for you to do, shall I?"

He could see it in Alfred's face, in the smirk that escaped the American's control and the way he shifted forward in his chair. The American wanted to say something sexual about Arthur's last comment, wanted to up the level of their flirtations. But he was holding back because of how upset Arthur had gotten in the pub, and the Brit knew it. Part of him wanted to give the blue-eyed man permission to say it. He wanted to hear Alfred flirt with him and he wanted to flirt back because the American was kissable and so easy to flirt with that Arthur knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself when those opportunities presented themselves. Not that he wanted to.

"Are you all right, Alfred? You look like there's something you want to say," he pointed out, and an almost pained look came into the American's eyes.

"Nope. I'm good."

The Brit pulled the most innocent expression he could, leaning his elbows on the table. "Are you sure? You can tell me if something's wrong, you know. Boss is always here to listen."

Alfred's face was quickly turning red and Arthur internally gloated over how much he was getting to this man who seemed so unflappable most of the time. This entire situation had completely flipped around and suddenly he was the one flustering Alfred instead of the other way around.

_He shouldn't have made me the boss._

To be fair, Alfred didn't know him well enough to realize that Arthur wasn't one to take advantage of being given power, even if it was only the small amount he could get from being "the boss." Besides, there were so many possibilities to consider when it came to Alfred calling him "boss" that Arthur wanted to smirk. If they'd been in an actual relationship, had known each other for some number of months and been dating long enough that Arthur was willing to play games, this would be one of his favorites.

Unfortunately, this was only the first date. Yet they'd somehow stumbled upon the sort of situation that made Alfred squirm in his chair as Arthur casually sipped on his apple cider. This whirlwind romance adventure of his was going to be even more fun than he'd initially realized.


	6. Chapter 6

God damn it.

_Keep it cool, Al. Don't let it get to you._

Easier said than done. It was irrationally difficult to stay on his own side of the table all of a sudden, and he was starting to feel uncomfortably warm. He wasn't hungry, though, which was good because otherwise he really wouldn't have been able to hold back all the comments running through his head. Hunger was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now.

On the other hand, Alfred wouldn't have minded _dealing_ with the Brit sitting only a foot and a half away. Especially the little smirk dancing around the corner of that teasing mouth. He'd made the right choice in giving Arthur control of their date—the amusement in his emerald eyes made that obvious. Arthur liked being the boss and if Alfred was perfectly honest with himself then he couldn't deny that he liked it, too.

_I'd let him order me around._

Yes. Yes, he would. Arthur would probably be fantastic—he could easily picture the golden blond hair pushed back out of his eyes, a cruel, sexy smirk curving his lips as he grabbed Alfred's hair and pulled his head back so their eyes met.

"Alfred."

_Shit._

The warning tone Arthur had used put a guilty look on Alfred's face through he did his best to smile at the Brit. "Yeah?"

Arthur was staring at him with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smile. "What were you thinking about, just now?"

_Letting you put a collar on me so I can do some really nasty things to you._

"Nothing," the bespectacled man lied smoothly, slipping into a calm, confident posture and expression. "I was just spacing off."

The eyebrow went higher. "Am I boring you?"

"'Course not, sugar." Flawlessly, Alfred shifted his accent from ambiguous American to a deep southern drawl. To his amusement, Arthur's face turned red and it looked like he was biting the inside of his lower lip or his tongue. Alfred decided to push his luck and winked at the other man. "I jes' got lost in yer purdy eyes."

Arthur looked away, his face practically flaming as he took a long drink of his ice water. It was funny to see the Englishman that had been teasing him only a few minutes ago so flustered just because of his accent.

"Somethin' the matter, Artie?" he asked, grin still firmly in place. "Ya look a little flushed."

Silent, Arthur nodded without look at him. "Fine." His voice was strained and the red was starting to creep down his neck.

"D'ya like this'n better? It's a right sight easier ta recognize."

"Knock it off," Arthur growled, finally meeting Alfred's gaze with an obviously frustrated expression, "before I do something I'll regret."

Alfred couldn't help but lean one arm on the table. "Ya sure ya'd regret it?" he purred, and Arthur's ears went as red as his face.

"Git."

The American laughed and dropped the accent as quickly as he'd picked it up. "Whatever you say, Boss."

Arthur glared as Alfred grinned, emeralds locked with sapphires. They both knew the accent had gotten to Arthur on a level that he wasn't willing to admit to. It was definitely something that Alfred was going to have to remember to use later. Maybe he'd even take advantage of it.

_Wouldn't be the first time that accent came in handy._

Neither man had a chance to say anything more, considering that their waitress returned at that moment, a tray with two plates of food in her hands. "Roast pork," she set a steaming plate in front of Arthur, "and bangers and mash." The other was placed on Alfred's side of the table. "Can I get you anything else?" she asked politely and even a little hopefully, though this time she made sure to look back and forth between the two men so that she wouldn't be directed at Arthur.

Still grinning, Alfred opened his mouth to respond but didn't manage to get any words out before Arthur cut him off.

"Yes, actually," the Brit said, hooded green eyes on Alfred, "I'd like a glass of spiced rum."

Alfred watched the waitress' reaction out of the corner of his eye, sharing in her confusion but not showing it himself.

"Do you want it mixed with anything?" She seemed almost afraid to ask.

"No, thank you."

"All right." Confused and a little concerned, she wrote down the order then walked away. Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"Straight rum, huh?" It sounded like a really bad idea, especially since he didn't know anything about Arthur's drinking habits or tolerance or what kind of drunk he was. The apple cider he'd ordered was fine—that had very little alcohol in it so he wasn't at all worried about the green-eyed man drinking it over dinner. But rum?

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

That smirk was still lingering around his mouth and there was something in his eyes that made Alfred nervous. Who was this guy, that he could so quickly go from teasing to flustered to having a secret that made the American's pulse race slightly?

"You sure that's a good idea?"

Arthur smiled, his expression almost but not quite innocent as he picked up his fork and knife and began cutting apart his roast pork. "There's no need to look so worried, Alfred. One glass of rum won't be enough to get me past that giddy stage right before the tipsy stage."

So he was drinking rum to be giddy. Did that mean he wasn't happy with how their date was going?

"If you say so," Alfred replied, shrugging as he picked up his own silverware. "I guess I just didn't take you for much of a drinker."

"You met me in a pub," the Brit pointed out before taking a bite of pork.

"Yeah, but you seemed completely sober to me. Or are you one of those people who can drink until dawn and act like you've never had a drop of alcohol in your life up until you're about to pass out?"

That made Arthur chuckle and he shook his head. "No, I can't hold my liquor quite that well, and I don't really drink very much. One or two small glasses in the pub on Friday nights is usually all I drink."

"So why are you ordering rum?"

"Because I trust you to take care of things if I do have a little too much to drink."

Oh, shit. This was not a good idea—Alfred was used to getting a meal from people who'd been drinking, not tucking them into bed and walking away. But it would be okay as long as he wasn't hungry. He'd just eaten last night so there was no way he'd start to feel hungry until at least tomorrow afternoon and he had no plans to be around Arthur when that happened. The Brit didn't need to be his chosen meal for a second time, and Alfred didn't know if he could handle being turned down for a second time, anyway.

"I'm flattered," was all he could say, because Arthur had turned his attention to his meal and Alfred still wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the golden blond drinking.

_It'll be fine. He isn't going to get drunk and I'm not hungry. We're on a date and he doesn't have to drive so why shouldn't he have a couple of drinks? Relax, Al._

To distract himself, Alfred focused on his own food and took a few bites as an excuse not to say anything. Eventually, though, he decided he was tired of the silence that was only broken by the sounds of their silverware clinking softly against their plates, and looked up at Arthur again.

"So, you go to that pub for a drink every Friday?" he asked by way of starting up their conversation, and Arthur nodded as he took a drink of his water.

"Usually. First time I've ever been asked out by some handsome stranger, though."

The description made Alfred grin and he winked at the shorter man sitting across from him. "I find that hard to believe, but I'm glad I got to be the first one." He saw the slightly flattered embarrassment flit over Arthur's face and took it as encouragement. "You must work nearby, then, if you stop there for a drink so often."

"Yes, I actually work in this district, at one of the banks."

Leaning his elbows on the table, Alfred ignored his food in favor of putting all of his attention on his companion. "What do you do?"

"I'm on the advisory board to help the bank decide who to approve for loans and things like that," he explained with a small shrug. "It's not the highest or best paying job, but I'm content with my lot."

"That's good," Alfred commented, "as long as you're happy with your job then that's all that matters."

"What about you?" Setting down his fork so that he could focus on Alfred rather than his food, Arthur mimicked the way the American was leaning forward on the table. "You're a model, yes? What sort of modeling do you do?"

"Small stuff, mostly. Ads for magazines and commercials. I'm not famous or anything." He would be, but he couldn't. There was no point in being a famous model for a few years just to pretend to retire and fade out of society's notice for a while just to come back with a new name so that no one would notice that he didn't actually age. Feliks was more than willing to shove Alfred into the public eye and put his name on billboards, but he always refused. The nymph could go on designing clothes forever under different brand names and no one would ever notice that it was always the same person, but Alfred couldn't do that. He had to stay small-time or people might start asking questions, and that was just about the last thing he wanted.

Of course, he couldn't tell any of that to Arthur.

"Would you do a show, if someone asked you?" There was genuine curiosity in Arthur's green eyes and Alfred smiled in spite of himself.

"Sure, I guess, though I don't know how good I'd be at strutting down a runway. I'd feel sort of embarrassed to have so many people watching me."

"What, with a face like yours? You'd be the favorite—they'd love you."

Unable to help himself, Alfred blushed slightly at the compliment. "Thanks, but I'm okay with ads and commercials. Obviously it pays well enough for me to live a good life and, hey, if I hadn't started working for Feliks, then I never woulda met you."

Now it was Arthur's turn to blush and he averted his gaze for a moment.

"Flatterer," he muttered, and Alfred reached across the table to touch the other man's hand. The pale skin was soft and smooth and he reveled in it, knowing that he could easily hold onto that hand for the rest of his life and never be less fascinated by the way it felt against his own skin.

"I mean it, Artie. I'm glad I wandered into that pub last night," he murmured sincerely, not bothering to look up when approaching footsteps betrayed that the waitress was back with Arthur's rum, and ignoring her when she asked if he wanted anything.

Yeah, he wanted something, but not something that she could bring him on her black plastic tray. He didn't think she'd be willing to deliver Arthur up to him, anyway, and he didn't want Arthur on a platter—although he wouldn't necessarily mind it, either.

_One day. One day, and I want to spend time with this man every chance I get. After just one day._

Hell. He couldn't be in love already. Could he? Would he know if he was? Love wasn't something he'd experienced before, at least, not that he could remember. His human years were a little fuzzy, after all, so maybe he'd been in love once before, but he didn't think so. This wasn't a familiar feeling.

"All right, all right," Arthur mumbled, face red once more, "cut it out. You're embarrassing me."

Slowly, Alfred pulled his hand back to his own side of the table and smiled. "So, Mister Bank Administrator, what do you do for fun, besides sit in that pub waiting for someone like me to come along and sweep you off your feet?"

Despite still being a little red in the face, Arthur took a moment to carefully consider the question before answering. "I like to read, and I write a bit of poetry here and there."

That snagged Alfred's interest. "Can I read some of your work?"

"You…you really want to?" The Brit looked stunned, as if no one had ever taken even the slightest interest in his hobby before.

"Yeah. I mean, poetry is really expressive so reading yours should help me get to know you better," Alfred pointed out.

"Oh, well, yes, I suppose you could read some of my poems, but you have to promise not to laugh at any of them."

Alfred's usual grin made its appearance and he nodded enthusiastically. "Deal."

"All right, what about you?"

"I studied mechanics and engineering in college so I spend a lot of time working on my bikes, though I really enjoy cars, too. I won't say no to a party if I'm in the mood, though sometimes it's nice to sit down in a quiet spot with a good book and forget all about the world for a little while, y'know?" He was smiling as he said it, though his blue eyes had taken on a faraway look as he idly traced the pattern stitched into the table cloth beneath their plates and the centerpieces.

"Yes, I know what you mean." Arthur's voice had quieted as well and both men fell silent for several moments, lost in their own separate thoughts as they ate a bit more. "When did you first become interested in auto mechanics?"

He had to think about that one for a few moments. "During my teenage years, like most other kids. For a while, I rode this really old motorcycle that my dad had stored away on our farm. He told me that if I fixed it up and got it running then I could ride it as much as I wanted, so I did. Fixing up that old bike was somehow the most amazing thing I'd ever done and sometimes I wonder if I'll ever do anything better than that."

"So you studied to be a mechanic and ended up being a model, instead," Arthur summed it up, and Alfred nodded after giving a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Funny how things work out, huh?" The American went back to eating the meal Arthur had chosen for him so that he wouldn't have to look in the Englishman's eyes as he thought about exactly that—things don't always work out just the way people want them to.

His life was the perfect example. Fresh off the farm as soon as he was old enough to enlist, then right into the military because there was a war going on and it was a war that needed to be won, no matter what. But he'd only made it a couple of years as a soldier before his life was turned upside down. He'd met that stranger and, well, his memories of what happened were pretty fuzzy but the next day he'd woken up and discovered that he was no longer human and it had scared him to death. Or it would have, had he been able to die as easily as a human could. Now he was an Incubus and he had to have sex every few days or he'd waste away and die.

Not the sort of life story he thought Arthur would enjoy, especially during their first date.

"Your turn. Did you always want to be in the banking business?" A rather large bite of food disappeared into his mouth.

An embarrassed look came into Arthur's eyes and he looked down at the table top with a shy smile. "No, I, ah, well, I wanted to be a rock star, actually."

Alfred almost choked on his food. Arthur? A rock star? Not just a group singer or a background dancer or instrumentalist, but a _rock star._ "That's really cool."

The green-eyed man looked up at him in surprise, his face having been hidden by his bangs as he examined the few bites that were all that was left of his roast pork; a drink of rum left him licking his lips and Alfred had the overwhelming urge to lean across the table and kiss him. Again.

"I had a bit of a punk phase, if we can call it that."

"Did you have tattoos?"

The Brit's blush darkened and that was all the answer Alfred needed.

"You did! Awesome! Can I see?" he asked, speaking quickly in his excitement that Arthur, this man who seemed so proper and unflappable, was apparently the outcome of teenage years spent worshiping rock stars and celebrities.

"No, you may not see," Arthur eventually replied, a little bit indignant. "Not here, anyway."

"So, when I take you back to your apartment…?" the American let his sentence trail off suggestively, smirking a little to see Arthur flush and take another drink of his rum.

"If you think you're coming inside on the first date then you've got another thing coming, love," he replied, and Alfred laughed softly.

"I'm not surprised. But can I see them sometime? I bet they're pretty badass."

A certain amount of pride entered Arthur's bearing and he half smiled. "Of course they are."

It was an answer worthy of a grin. Then another possibility occurred to Alfred and he leaned across the table to whisper conspiratorially, "did you have piercings?" The only response from Arthur was a curt nod and Al couldn't help but grin. "Can I see those, too?"

"Maybe." Arthur let his half smile turn teasing as he sat back in his chair. "If you're good."

"Oh, I can be good." Leaning back as well, Alfred let a seductive smirk curl up one side of his mouth. "I can be _very_ good."

"Really. Well, you're going to have to prove that, you bloody American," the Briton stated, his tone borderline playful, and Alfred was about to say that he wouldn't mind doing just that whenever Arthur had the time for a demonstration, but their waitress returned before he could get the words out.

_She has really shitty timing._

"Are you gentlemen ready for your bill or will you be ordering desert tonight?"

Green eyes met blue as Arthur and Alfred considered each other.

"We're done," the golden blond decided after a few moments, and the woman set a thin leather booklet on the table top.

"Thank you for dining with us tonight."

It was quiet after she left, and Alfred reached into his pocket for his wallet. He counted out enough notes to cover the bill—plus a little extra as a tip—and tucked them into the booklet as Arthur watched in mild curiosity. Paying for such a large meal with cash was probably odd, but he didn't carry credit cards and he never would. They were just another one of those things that he would have to get rid of after so many years then get new ones under a new name to avoid attracting unwanted attention. He, Feliks and Toris all paid for everything in cash to avoid leaving a paper trail with their names plastered all over it.

"Ready?" he asked, standing and straightening his jacket. Arthur nodded and stood as well, and Alfred reached over to take the smaller man's hand without even realizing it. But Arthur didn't complain, and they walked all the way back to where the motorcycle sat waiting for them without letting go of each other.

This time, Arthur put the helmet on by himself and easily settled onto the bike, though it was obvious that he was still a little nervous. Alfred brought the machine to life, loving the rumble of the engine and how _alive_ it felt underneath him, how powerful. It was only made better by the arms wrapped around his ribcage and the knees that pressed gently against his hips, the helmet resting against his shoulder.

"I'm ready!" Arthur called, just loud enough for the American to hear it over the motorcycle, and then they were off down the street back towards his apartment.

The few minutes went by much too quickly for Alfred. He would have liked to spend a good half an hour or so with Arthur holding onto him like that, but he couldn't very well just drive around London without telling the petite blond about it first, so he contented himself with the few minutes he had. Still, disappointment colored his thoughts when they pulled up to the curb and he shut off the bike as Arthur carefully climbed off onto the sidewalk.

Without wasting a moment, Alfred stood up as well and helped the smaller man remove the helmet, then tucked it under his arm.

"Thanks for going out with me, Artie," he said with a smile, and Arthur nodded.

"I had fun, even though we almost got kicked out of a tea shop, and the waitress at the restaurant wanted you to ask for her number."

Alfred couldn't help but chuckle a little sheepishly at the description of their date. "Yeah, well, what's life without a few unexpected twists?"

"Safe," Arthur replied.

"Boring," Alfred corrected, then pulled the smaller man into a hug before Arthur could stop him. "I had fun, too."

To his satisfaction, Arthur returned the hug before pulling away just enough for their eyes to meet; they were silent for just a moment.

"You're bloody ridiculous," the green-eyed man murmured, and Alfred gave a cocky grin.

"Why d'you think that?"

A red tinge came into Arthur's cheeks, though he didn't look away. "Because I find myself wanting you to kiss me again."

"Ah." Victory rushed through Alfred's veins. "I can do that, you know."

He could see it in Arthur's eyes that he wanted it, and he'd be lying if he said that he didn't want it, too. That was all he wanted in that moment, to pull Arthur flush against him and kiss him as if he'd never see the shorter blond again. Maybe pick him up and carry him into the apartment they'd pulled up to and show him that Alfred really was perfectly capable of behaving himself. But he didn't do any of those things.

Instead, he waited for Arthur to give a small nod, then he kissed the Englishman, softly and carefully so as not to lose control of himself like he had in the tea shop. Damn, though, the Brit tasted good. Even though he only tasted those pale, pretty lips, he could tell that, if he ever _really_ got to taste Arthur, that he would want to drown in the flavor of honey, the lingering warmth of rum and apple cider that he found. And when Arthur kissed him back…it was perfect, the way their lips moved and fit to each other. It would have been so easy to give into the temptation that was this quirky little Englishman, and Alfred had to use all of his self control to break the kiss after several long moments in order to stare into amazing green eyes.

_I think I love you._

"I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" he whispered, pleased that Arthur was staring right back at him, that there was a light pink dusting the Brit's pale cheeks; they were both slightly out of breath.

"You'd better, you kissable git."

Alfred chuckled quietly and kissed Arthur's nose just for the hell of it. "I will. Promise." Then he released the smaller man and waited until the golden blond had vanished inside the apartment before getting back on his motorcycle and driving off down the street, back towards the hotel where he was sure Feliks lying in wait for him in anticipation of hearing all about how the date had gone. And Alfred knew he wouldn't mind telling him every little detail because that had been the best date of his life. Besides, who better to share in his excitement than the nymph?


	7. Chapter 7

Candles flickered along the walls, casting shadows that attracted his attention, and he watched them for several long moments. Modestly dressed and unobtrusive, Arthur sat quietly in the back of the church. The preacher's voice carried well enough for him to hear, though he wasn't quite paying attention. It was just a pleasant noise in the background, helping to soothe and relax him as he gazed at the high windows and vaulted ceiling. The building was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, and he felt entirely comfortable to sit there and absorb the peace that filled this chapel. The weak morning sunlight made the stained glass in the windows glow just slightly, and Arthur knew that they would be absolutely stunning in an hour or so once the sun rose a little higher. For now, though, the colors were soft and peaceful as they illuminated the building, and that suited him just fine. He liked how peaceful church services were. Today, he'd decided to attend a Catholic service. Maybe next week would be Protestant. He wouldn't decide until he woke up next Sunday—who knew what he'd be in the mood for a week from now.

Arthur barely noticed when the pastor finished his sermon and the other people who had attended the mass began to get up and leave. His attention was locked on the candles and their shadows again and it wasn't until he and only a few others remained that it occurred to the Brit that he should probably clear out before someone came to ask him if he needed something.

A quiet, content sigh escaped him as he stood, stretching his back so it popped once or twice, straightened his blazer, and left the building. Fresh, cool morning air greeted him once he walked out the doors, and he smiled slightly before heading off down the sidewalk. It was a lovely morning, though the news last night claimed that it was going to rain later in the day. That was no surprise, and it was of little consequence because he fully intended to be home by the time the weather was supposed to turn sour.

For now, though, he wandered along until he came to a wrought-iron fence, and then he followed that until he found the gate. Beyond was a small park, a place where families could come for picnics and to fly kites when the weather permitted. Smiling and with his hands neatly tucked into his pockets, Arthur went through the gate and into the park. The sidewalk led him past open, grassy spaces and small groups of trees, eventually passing a wooden park bench with a dedication plaque embedded on the back. Arthur had never managed to read the faded words; he assumed whomever it was dedicated to had played a large part in creating this park.

Abandoning the path, Arthur chose instead to sit and enjoy the quickly strengthening sunlight and listen to the sounds of birds and other small animals as they went about their business in the trees and grass around him. It was almost as peaceful as the church had been. Now, though, he felt he had a little more freedom to let his thoughts wander, and before long he found himself thinking about one thing in particular.

_I should invite Alfred._

_But it will be boring. He'll be bored. He wouldn't want to go to something like that._

_Maybe, but there's no harm in asking. You'll have more fun if he goes. Alfred would add a little excitement._

The American was refreshing company, but Arthur wasn't sure if he wanted to invite him. They'd only just met, after all, and as well as the date had gone, he was nervous. What if Alfred said no? A handsome young man like Alfred would certainly have better things to do in London than attend some stuffy faculty party. Even if he did like Arthur enough to say yes out of courtesy, he would probably be bored out of his mind listening to a few old men talk about their adventures in banking. Still, it would impress his colleagues if Arthur showed up with someone like Alfred as his Plus One. He'd never brought a Plus One to any of the faculty parties and he had a feeling that his coworkers thought he had absolutely no love life. Not that he minded such an opinion—it was better than everyone knowing what a train wreck his love life tended to be.

_Just call him and ask. So what if he says no?_

But Arthur didn't want to call. He didn't want to seem clingy or overly attached after only one date. Besides, Alfred had promised to call him today, so all he had to do was wait. Then he would use the opportunity to ask. Hell, he could even suggest that it be their second date—the party itself might be a little boring but they could always go out for drinks afterwards, if they wanted. Or he could invite the American over.

That made Arthur pause and he blinked several times before shaking his head.

"Idiot," the blond muttered, frowning to himself. "Not already."

He'd never thought he would meet someone he was so willing to share his life with so quickly. All of his past relationships had to be several serious dates in before Arthur even considered inviting them over to his house. Sure, Alfred knew where he lived, but that was entirely different from asking the American to come inside. Inviting someone into his home was a cause of a large amount of stress for Arthur and it wasn't something he did on a whim. He always took a day to clean and make sure everything was spotless. Sometimes, he even took the time to rearrange the furniture to try to make it more visually appealing.

Yet there he was, thinking to himself that he might invite the American model over later that week. Only a few days from now. Already? After one date? He was already attached to him enough that he was willing to invite the man into his home.

_What is wrong with me? Have I suddenly lost all my common sense? He's a vacationing model, for Christ's sake! I shouldn't be getting this involved with him. Not so quickly, at least._

Unbidden, images of Alfred's smile, the way his blue eyes absolutely shone behind his glasses and how his hair was somehow always perfectly messy, filled the Brit's mind and he groaned, covering his face with his hands. This was getting completely out of hand and he didn't know what he was supposed to do about it. He could try avoiding the American, but he didn't want to do that. He liked Alfred too much, and it would hurt the tall man's feelings if he did that. Besides, he'd decided that stepping out of his comfort zone for once would be good for him. Why should he change his mind just because he was actually enjoying himself? Alfred didn't make him uncomfortable and he didn't feel rushed or anything of the sort. It was just his usual caution stepping in and urging him to slow down. And it was surprising that he wanted to invite Alfred to come to his apartment, but it wasn't something Arthur thought he should be worried about. What harm was there in wanting to get to know the American a little better?

_None. There's nothing wrong with being attracted to him. He's attractive. He's kissable. Very kissable. Of course I want to spend more time with him. I'll invite him to the faculty party. If that goes well, then maybe afterwards I'll invite him over for a drink and just to talk. It doesn't have to go any farther than that._

He didn't let himself add "not yet" onto the end of his thought because part of him wasn't ready to admit how very attracted he was to Alfred. Not that he could blame himself. Anyone would be. But Arthur was a gentleman and letting his emotions get the better of him wasn't something he easily allowed.

"One step at a time, Arthur," he assured himself, then stood and started back towards the park entrance. By slight rumble his stomach decided to make, it was approaching noon and he would be hungry for lunch soon. He could probably make it back to his apartment just in time if he kept a brisk pace.

It was just as he was leaving the park that he realized his phone was still on silent from having been in church, and that if Alfred tried to call him, he wouldn't notice. That sent him digging through his pockets for the device until he found it, and he was relieved to see that he had no missed calls. He did, however, have an unread message from none other than the handsome American he was so infatuated with.

_Infatuated. That is definitely the right word._

A smile he couldn't hold back appeared on his face as Arthur opened the message.

_ Can I call you?_

_ Of course._

Only about a minute after the message sent, Arthur felt his phone begin to buzz in his pocket and quickly retrieved it, flipping it open.

"Hello?" he answered, sounding breathless in spite of himself.

"_Hey, Artie. What're you up to?"_

"Going for a walk." Arthur tucked his free hand into his pocket and slowed his pace to a leisurely stroll—lunch could wait if it meant his conversation with Alfred would last a little longer. "Yourself?"

"_Uh, just looking to see if we have any food in this hotel room. I'm starving."_

Chuckling, Arthur pictured the tall American dressed in blue jeans and a loose white undershirt, a phone held to his ear as he opened and closed cabinets and leaned over to peer into a fridge in search of something to eat. "You could always go out for lunch."

"_Naw, I'm too lazy for that. Besides, I look like crap since I just woke up. No one wants to see me looking like this."_

"I find that hard to believe."

"_What, that I'm lazy? Trust me, Arthur, I'm one lazy guy."_

"Not that," Arthur laughed, "the part about you looking like crap." If he was completely honest, the image of Alfred looking for food in baggy pajama pants with his hair extra messy and sleepy blue eyes was even better than one in jeans.

"_Oh."_ There was a pause and the Brit liked to think he'd made the other man blush. _"Thanks."_

"You're welcome."

Even just over the phone, it was fun to talk to Alfred. The American was so blatant and honest about what he was doing and who he was that it was refreshing. Arthur was used to people who kept up a face of always being put together, of never letting things go or taking a day off. He himself used to do that, though now that he had a secure position in the bank, he'd relaxed somewhat. Knowing that Alfred was being completely honest when he said that he'd just woken up and was too lazy to go out for lunch made Arthur chuckle and shake his head. Somehow, the man who had flattered him flawlessly in the pub then swept him off his feet during their date was also a man who had no problem with eating lunch in his pajamas.

"Did you really just wake up, Alfred?" he asked, smile still in place.

An embarrassed laugh sounded through the phone. _"Yeah. Jet lag is killing me. It's only, like, seven in the morning back home, so this is breakfast for me."_

Of course. Arthur had completely forgotten about the difference in time zones between the UK and the US. "Then I'm surprised you're up, if you're as lazy as you claim to be."

"_Normally, I'd sleep in way later than this, but Feliks started playing some insanely loud music to force me to get up. I think he's got a full day planned for the three of us, and if I'm going to be here all summer then I should get used to the time zone as fast as I can."_

Voices sounded in the background of the call and Arthur tilted his head, listening curiously. "Is that Feliks?"

Muffled words were the only response for a moment._ "Yeah. He wanted to know who I was talking to—"_

"_Hi, Arthur!" _a new voice shouted, drowning Alfred out for a moment.

"_Feliks! Shut up!"_ The American growled as someone, probably Feliks, giggled in the background. _"Knock it off, you annoying little-!"_ A pause, then a sigh. _"Yes, as a matter of fact, I'm starving. Can't you tell?"_

One thick, blond eyebrow lifted out of amusement, Arthur almost paused on the sidewalk to listen to the conversation taking place on Alfred's side of the phone call. It was interesting to hear him talk to people he was comfortable around. Clearly, they had a close friendship because it sounded like Feliks was making fun of him for something.

"_Hey, Artie?"_

"Yes?" His pace returned to normal though he was still smiling.

"_Feliks just said he'll make breakfast if I help, so I'm gonna let you go, kay? I can call again later, if you want."_

"I would like that, Alfred," the Brit responded, glad that he was important enough to receive more than one phone call from the American. "Before you go, though, I have a question." Now was his chance.

"_Ask away."_

"Well, there's a faculty party on Thursday that I have to attend. It's supposed to encourage friendly relations between different sectors and branches of the bank. I'm sure it's going to be boring beyond belief, but I'm allowed to bring a Plus One, if you're at all interested." He paused, biting his lip as he waited for Alfred's answer. "You don't have to come," he added when there was no immediate response. "I just know I'll enjoy it more if you're there, and maybe it could be our second date?" A hopeful tone slipped into the ending and Arthur prayed silently that he didn't sound desperate or pathetic.

"_That sounds great. Of course I'll go. Thursday night?"_

"Yes, the party starts at eight pm." His apartment was in sight and Arthur slowed his steps even further to keep from getting there before their conversation was over.

"_Then I'll pick you up at 7:30 and you can tell me where to go. Sound good?"_

"Oh, on your motorcycle?" Arthur asked hesitantly, remembering how terrifying it had been the first time.

"_You sound nervous, Artie,"_ the American teased, and Arthur felt his face heat up slightly.

"I'm not nervous! The party is a semi-formal event and I don't know how my boss would react to me arriving on the back of a motorcycle with my arms around some handsome foreigner!"

"_He'll be jealous as hell, of course."_

"That's not the point, you git!" the golden blond all but shouted, then glanced around to make sure he hadn't caught anyone's attention by being too loud. He made sure to lower his voice. "If my boss thinks I'm doing anything that could reflect poorly on the company, I could get demoted or fired!"

"_If you think I'll get you fired, then why are you inviting me?"_

"Because I like you, idiot, and I know I would enjoy your company. Just promise me you won't do anything too…American."

"_Excuse me?"_ Alfred was clearly offended.

_Hell. That was the wrong thing to say._ "No, I—I didn't mean it like that! I'm sorry!" The Brit rushed to get the words out, hoping he hadn't done irreparable damage to his relationship with the taller blond.

"_Are ya sayin' there's somethin' wrong with Americans, Artie?"_

Immediately, Arthur felt his face turn red and he stopped walking altogether for a moment before quickly moving towards his front door. There was no way he was continuing this conversation in public if Alfred was going to start using that damned southern accent. He already had his keys out when he got up the stairs to his front door.

"Don't do that!" he hissed once the door was safely shut behind him and he'd leaned back against it. "I was outside!" It only made it worse that his reaction made Alfred chuckle.

"_Yer point? I kin do anythin' I want, darlin'. Or were ya plannin' on doin' somethin' ta make me stop?"_

Bloody hell! The bastard knew what he was doing! "Stop it!"

"_What fer? I like this'n, ya know."_

_So do I. That's the problem._ Rather than admit it, though, Arthur took a deep breath and slowly released it as a sigh. "I can see that. So, Thursday?"

"_I'll be there."_

At least he'd dropped the accent so Arthur managed to stand up straight again. "7:30, and don't you dare be late, Alfred."

"_Whatever you say, Boss."_

The nerve of him! Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as he held back the countless responses he wanted to snap at the American who insisted on teasing him. "I'll see you then. Enjoy your lunch."

"_See ya, Artie."_

"Goodbye, Alfred." He hung up and let out another sigh, relieved. At least he'd managed to get inside before he did something he'd rather not do in public. That bloody accent did things to him that Arthur would rather not think about and would certainly never admit. It just wasn't fair—_his_ accent didn't seem to have any effect on Alfred whatsoever. But the moment the American dropped into that drawl…Arthur shook himself as the mere memory of it sent goosebumps up his arms.

_And the git knows._

Well, there was nothing he could do about that, so Arthur decided not to worry about it, at least not for now. For now, he would enjoy the fact that Alfred had agreed to go the faculty party with him on Thursday, and that he could walk into work with his head held high tomorrow. His colleagues would likely try to tease him about his boring weekend—as they did every Monday—but this time he was going to have a story to share. Not that he planned on giving them very many details. The bastards could wait until Thursday to find out who the "handsome stranger" he'd just so happened to meet on Friday night was.

It was going to be fun to shock them all.

X

The moment he hit the End Call option on his phone, Alfred felt hands gripping his shirt and was roughly yanked forward as lips crashed against his own. Without even thinking about it, he dropped the phone and ran his hands down the other person's sides until they found the curve of bare hips, which he gripped tightly as his eyes fell shut.

_Hungry._

Yes, he was hungry. He was starving. His meal the other night hadn't lasted as long as he'd expected and he'd woken up with the familiar craving banging around in his skull. And being kissed was like opening a floodgate to let that hunger overtake him completely. It was amazing that he'd managed to stay calm while talking to Arthur for so long while being this hungry.

Fingers tightening on those hips, Alfred tilted his head and opened his mouth, his tongue sliding out to taste and explore soft lips before delving between them into the hot mouth beyond. The action drove a moan from his makeout partner and the incubus couldn't help but smirk a little; one of his hands slid around to cup a handful of ass and he squeezed while bringing their hips together.

"Alfred!" his name was gasped as the other pulled away from the kiss, and Alfred opened his eyes, grinning.

"What?" he asked, not at all surprised to see that Feliks was the one who had started kissing him so suddenly; Toris rarely instigated these things.

"You're, like, totally gonna leave bruises!" the green-eyed nymph accused, pouting slightly; Alfred chuckled and licked the smaller male's nose.

"So? You've never complained about them before." The hand he still had on Feliks' rear squeezed gently so that he jumped.

"H-hey!"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "I'm starving, okay? That chick didn't last long." His voice lowered into a soft whine and he started kissing the side of Feliks' neck, knowing it would butter the smaller man up. "I'm hungry, Fe."

A sigh escaped the nymph and he draped his arms around Alfred's neck, head tilting to expose more skin to the tall blond. "I know, Al. Toris—"

The brunet looked up from his spot on the couch, expression curious, a book in his hands. "Yes?"

Feliks smiled at his mate, one hand running through Alfred's hair as the incubus continued to kiss and lick and nibble on his neck. "Feeding time," he crooned, and Toris smiled a little as he stood up.

"Okay." There was no hesitation in his movements as he set his book aside and began to unbutton the shirt he had chosen to wear that day. "Come on, Alfred."

"Pick me up," Feliks whispered into the American's ear, and Alfred wasted no time in doing just that, his hands firmly gripping Feliks' thighs as he lifted him off his feet and began carrying him towards his bedroom. Immediately, the nymph wrapped his legs around Alfred's waist and pulled him into a second kiss, though this one remained soft as he patiently lapped at the taller man's mouth. Toris followed them, closing the door once the three men were inside Alfred's bedroom.

"Light off, or on?" he asked, tilting his head curiously.

"Off," came Alfred's reply, and the brunet nodded before moving towards the bed. "I want to do this as our real selves."

"You really are starving," Toris commented, though he was smiling as he said it, and didn't wait to see Alfred's nod. "Liks."

His attention caught by the nickname, Feliks unwrapped his legs from Alfred's waist and, with the American's help, lowered himself to stand on his own two feet. "I'm, like, ready." Both males looked at their taller companion, knowing that when he was this hungry, he preferred to be in charge so that he could get his fill. It was best not to tease a hungry incubus.

Grinning again, Alfred quickly stripped off the old T-shirt he'd been wearing, then dropped his pajama pants and boxer briefs. Two pairs of eyes raked over him and his nose flared when the scent of Feliks and Toris' arousal reached him; it only made the urge to feed that much stronger. Suddenly, Alfred's shoulders hunched and he held his arms close to his chest, hands clenched into fists as he ground his teeth together, doubling over. A groan was ripped from him and he shuddered before going still. Several moments passed before he began to relax and stood straight again, blue eyes glowing eerily in the dark bedroom. His smile was firmly in place, though a little strained and not quite the same as before. Feliks smirked.

"You, like, remember how to use those?" he asked, pointing at the incubus' mouth to indicate the fangs that had sprouted from his top jaw.

"Just as much as I remember how to use this," Alfred purred in response, turning slightly so the two could see the slender black tail that now grew from the base of his spine as it curled and twisted as if it had a mind of its own. They could also see a pair of feathery black wings neatly folded over his shoulder blades, and the American reached up to feel one of the small, curling horns that stuck out of the side of his head above his ears with a hand that now bore small black claws rather than fingernails. "Forgot about these, though."

"It's been a while since any of us dropped our human forms," Toris commented softly, holding his shirt in front of himself as a sort of shield.

"Yeah, well, it hurts like hell to change for me," the incubus responded, not sounding particularly bothered by the fact that it was painful for him to reveal his true form. It wasn't something he enjoyed doing, but sometimes it was necessary if he wanted as large of a feeding as he needed. "Your turn, Liks."

Smiling playfully, the nymph shimmied out of his skinny jeans and the pink thong he wore before removing his rather loose Union Jack patterned crop top. He stood there, completely naked and smiling, and for a few moments it didn't appear that anything was happening. Then, slowly, the short blond began to glow. His skin turned a pale, shimmering gold and he giggled quietly, lips parting to reveal sharp, pointed teeth. A turn of his head revealed that his ears had elongated and lost their roundness, now closely resembling a typical "elf ear." Angular green eyes focused on Toris as Feliks and Alfred waited expectantly.

Obviously much shyer than the first two males had been, Toris dropped his shirt to the floor and took a deep breath. A look of intense concentration crossed his face, and Alfred and Feliks watched as his ears took on a pointed shape, though they weren't as long as Feliks'. His skin also began to glow, but with a pale blue tint rather than gold. His fingers and toes stretched just slightly until they were longer than was normal for a human. Lastly, a quiet fluttering sound was heard and then a pair of nearly transparent wings similar to those of a butterfly appeared behind the brunet as he lifted them and flapped a few times to test their strength. They reflected the glow from his skin and Feliks' shimmer, betraying their iridescent qualities.

"Always so pretty," Feliks sighed, gaze locked on Toris' wings; the faerie blushed at the attention.

"Thank you."

A growl sounded; nymph and faerie turned to find Alfred impatiently chewing on his lip.

"Can we hurry up?" he asked gruffly, trying not to sound too angry or irritated. "I'm about to go nuts over here."

Smiling, Toris and Feliks simultaneously reached out, each taking hold of one of Alfred's hands, and pulled him forward until all three males were sitting on the bed. Toris looked at Alfred curiously.

"Lube?" he asked, and the incubus pointed towards his bags.

"I didn't unpack it yet."

Without a word, Toris got up and fetched the bottle from where it had been packed with Alfred's belongings then returned to the bed and sat once more, popping the cap open. "Who's first?"

"He's capable of fucking us at, like, the same time," Feliks pointed out, green eyes full of mischief as he trailed a teasing finger down Alfred's chest. The taller blond growled again and roughly pulled him into yet another kiss, this one forceful and demanding as he deepened it without waiting for permission. Feliks moaned, submitting to the much stronger male and allowing Alfred to push him onto his back.

"You first," Alfred panted after breaking the kiss; he glanced at Toris. "Nymph for dinner. Faerie for desert." Today's meal would be very satisfying.


End file.
